


Don't Worry About the Present and Live in the Past

by VeteranKlaus



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, He hops right into the dysfunctional Hargreeves mess, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, Klaus doesn't get adopted, Klaus has a lovely mother, Klaus is german, M/M, Nightmares, Possession, Semi-Sober Klaus, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, Telekinetic Klaus, powerful klaus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-01-04 07:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18339119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: Eccentric billionaire Reginald Hargreeves only managed to adopt six children born on that fateful day in 1989, and those children together made the Umbrella Academy.In Dresden, Germany, Klaus Schmidtt learns the secrets of the past and reunites people with passed loved ones.One day, the ghost of a billionare shows up in his bedroom and demands he go to some academy.Or,Reginald doesn't adopt Klaus, and he grows up in Germany and actually learns how to use his powers. Becomes somewhat famous for conjuring the dead, and a deceased Reginald seeks him out after his death.





	1. One: (open the door to the other side)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this intro!

_Tap. Tap._

The ring on his pointer finger taps against his ash tray. Grey flakes fall from the smouldering tip, and Klaus brings it back to his black-painted lips, breathes in, and lets it settle in his lungs before breathing back out. 

It's late, and he's tired. His last 'customer' had left twenty minutes ago, and his hands still shake from the strain of today's work. He's gotten better at it, at speaking to corpses, conjuring them fully into the world of the living or at releasing them from it, but it's never easy. He doesn't enjoy it and it saps his energy, but he's in too deep now.

It's been like this for as long as he can remember. In the beginning he had gone to therapists and doctors, tried different kinds of medication, but nothing had seemed to work. No amount of medicine would stop the visions of corpses, and first, his family thought that was simply all they could do. Klaus would have to grow up and learn to ignore his own hallucinations unless something worked finally. His religious grandmother had told them to go talk to a priest, and they had. His blessing had done nothing to cease the moaning of a faceless man, to calm the blood stained hands of people that called for him endlessly. They continued on, however, and it was someone dubbed a 'spiritualist' who had helped. The moment Klaus, seven years old and followed by a horde of corpses, had walked in, the woman had been tense and uncomfortable, on edge and panicky. 

_"I feel them. I feel you... your aura. You're like a beacon to the spiritually inclined and the non-living... there's something special about you. You're connected to them."  
_

Of course, Klaus hadn't really understood her then. His parents had spoken with her seriously while Klaus sat and clasped his hands over his ears as if it would help at all. They tested it out, going to areas someone had recently died and Klaus would be able to tell them things only the deceased person or their close family would know, and the last nail in the coffin was when Klaus woke from a nightmare, hands blue, and his mother shaking while looking at the corpses in his room.

Klaus stamps out his cigarette and lets out a smoky sigh, rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, and pulls his bare feet off his desk. 

He's twenty-nine, now, and he owns a little building down town called  _Der Geist,_ and people come in and ask him to send a message to a deceased love one, or to see them one last time. Most of his job revolves around the dead themselves. He helps move them on from this world, even helped solve a few murder cases, found bodies only an hour or two after their death. 

That was Klaus' thing. Klaus was a walking Ouija board, a human séance, and if anyone need any contact to the world of the dead, Klaus was the one you went to. It wasn't pleasant, he didn't necessarily enjoy it, but he knew of no way to shut the dead up and anyway, it'd be a waste of a curse if he didn't use it in some way. 

He shoves his feet into his shoes and grabs for his jacket resting on the back of his seat, and as he goes about closing his little - what? Shop? Business? Whatever - up, he blows out the remaining candles still flickering and throwing dancing shadows around the heavily decorated place.

Klaus thinks some of the decorations are cringey, but he also rather enjoys it. He isn't actually sure if he needs any enhancements to be able to communicate with the non-living, but he has some either way. Most prominent, probably, are the hand tattoos he got years ago; motivated by the bottle of whiskey he had drank and the forums of bullshit spiritualists and Ouija board stories he had read. On his right hand he has one of those Ouija board-style suns that blends out to an inviting 'HELLO', and on his left hand he bears the same style of a moon that curves around the opposite 'GOODBYE'. If he was basically a Ouija board, he might as well look the part. It helps him get into it all, sort of. Somehow makes him feel more professional, gives him the idea that it's channelling something whenever he conjures and dismisses the non-living. 

Other than his own personal decorations, however, his little business was heavily decorated. The outside was simple; his sign to let them know what the place was, his times, contact information. You walk in through the front doors and there's a small, cosy little waiting space in which he'll usually greet the people, if they're alive, and let them know the do's and don'ts of this. There's some comfy seats, some paintings from tarot cards. The coffee table is decorated to look like a Ouija board, and there's tapestries on the back wall. There's his book, too, that he'll read all his rules from, and some tissues. There's a door leading to the bathroom, as well, and a coffee machine in the corner. 

You leave that room and enter the rest of the place. The atmosphere changes obviously; all the decorations in the front room are bright, and the large floor to ceiling windows keep the waiting room constantly bright. This room, however, is dim, lit by candles most of the time. He finds that everything is more vivid and real to him in the dark. There's constantly the thick smell of smoke; candle smoke, incense, and his own cigarette smoke (it's his place, he'll smoke inside if he wants to) and it makes people's eyes water usually. There's some mirrors around that he usually keeps covered up because using them usually only goes south and fast, and there's a mix of little knick-knacks. Crystals, plants, skulls, antiques. There's drawers full of paper from his sketchbooks, and in the back is the seating area. Simple; a table, a seat for him, three seats opposite. There's tissues on that table, too, next to his sketch book. The walls here are decorated with drawings, too, when he's taken a pencil or paint or whatever and gone right on the wall, although most of the wall décor consists of Klaus' messy writing. If the paper in front of him gets too full and the ghost he's talking too is speaking rapidly, he'll take to writing it on the wall. 

Usually, he'll take them there and they'll sit down, and it never (usually) takes long to get to who they want him to talk to. If it's a family member then they're usually nearby, close with their family, and he can easily urge them forth. Sometimes they're already there in the waiting room and the family gets confused when Klaus asks if it's "all four of you?" because, no, there's only three of them. 

He'll call them forth and sometimes they'll be inconsolable, frantic, pleading with him to bring them back to life. Sometimes they're hardly aware that they're dead. Sometimes they just want him to help them move on already. If the family don't want to see them - he lets them know that they'll look the way they died, and some people don't want that - he'll simply repeat everything they say, word for word. If they do, then his hands will glow blue and he'll focus on the feeling of himself sinking into the spirit realm further, splitting from the land of the living, and let the family have their moment.

Sometimes friends come, frantic and angry or hysterical. A friend died in a car crash, or got murdered, or whatever, and they'll yell and sob but he can't help solve a murder when there wasn't one, when their spirit already moved on.

Sometimes, Klaus wonders where he sits. How is he so connected to the spirit realm? 

Sometimes, he thinks he doesn't belong in either. He never really connects with the living, knows far more than anyone else does, sees things no human eye could catch, and he feels out of place with the living.

When he reaches out to the land of the dead, he's too alive to fit in. He's dead enough to go there, to see them and hear them and touch them and conjure them, but too alive to be one of them, too alive to stay with the dead. 

He isn't sure if it's just him, or if he's stuck in some limbo. Like he's some ghost possessing a humans body, simultaneously dead and alive, too dead to be alive, too alive to be truly dead, and he doesn't know what to make of it.

He tries not to think about it too much. He doesn't like death and he doesn't like life, and he doesn't want to put himself in either place. 

The street is dark as Klaus walks down, and he hums some song under his breath. It's Spanish, he thinks, and possibly a lullaby. A kind woman with a bullet wound between her eyes had sung it to him for years when he was young. People know him around here, and whether or not they agree with him - it's a fact, now, that Klaus isn't a hoax - they know what he's like and to not both with a second glance, even if he prances about in skin-tight pants and a sheer crop top, or a suit jacket and an absurd amount of jewellery that matches his makeup and makes his eyes pop.

He lives nearby, and so does his family. Usually he simply goes to his own apartment, sends a quick message to his mother to see how she's doing, send a message to his sister and ask her how her university course is going, but he knows his sister is in town tonight and he'd be stupid if he passed up the opportunity of a family night.

He leans against the wall after ringing the bell and waits for the door to open, and he's greeted by the familiar face of his younger sister.

"Frida!" He greets loudly. " _Bonjour_!"

The brunette jumps, but she grins at his surprise appearance.

"Frida, is that Klaus?" He hears their mother call, and they share a grin. Frida steps back and lets him in, and Klaus is happy to notice that nothing else has changed. The radio is on quietly in the background, playing some Lili Marlene, and he can hear movement in the kitchen. His mother shuffles out, then, a short little woman with black hair, broken by intervals of silver that Klaus assures her is beautiful. She shuffles over and he bends down to give her a hug.

"Hey, mama," he smiles, pulls back. "Decided to pop by, give y'all a visit," he says, and they all head over to the living room and Klaus falls into one of the arm chairs, draping his long legs over the arm of the chair. 

"How's psychology going?" He asks, turn to Frida who's cupping her tea she'd been drinking before he arrived, and she perks up.

"Great!" She beams. "I'm shitting myself for the exams, but it's going good!" 

"Frida!" Their mother exclaims. "Don't curse like that!" 

His sisters' cheeks warm up in a dark red and she utters an apology, glaring when Klaus snorts.

"Well, that's good, _meine schwester_ ," he says, waving a hand in a vague gesture. "Fu - damn, you're getting old. Soon I'll be the only one to talk to you," he comments, and while Frida laughs, their mother gasps.

"Don't say that kind of thing, Klaus!" She chastises, and Klaus ducks his head. 

"Just joking, mama," he offers with a sheepish smile and then he rises to his feet in one fluid motion.

"Have you had dinner?" He asks, making his way to the kitchen because Christ, he is starving. "The dead haven't given me a lunch break today - very rude of them, if you ask _moi_ \- so I'm positively starving." 

The kitchen still has that little old-timey feel to it, all greens and creams and browns, and that horrific table cloth is still thriving, Klaus notices. The kettle is steaming away on the stove and Klaus turns the stove off since it looks like it's boiled. All the plates drying on the side of the sink are clean and there's none in the sink, so Klaus assumes that they have, in fact, already had dinner. Fair enough, though, because it is past nine. 

 He hears his mother get up again and he waves her away with a smile, tells her to sit back down while he raids her cupboards and fridge. He settles on a packet of instant noodles, adding some hot water to them and carrying the bowl of them through to the living room and falling back into the arm chair.

"Have you ever eaten an actual meal before?" Frida asks, eying his unhealthy food choice, and Klaus raises an eyebrow at her.

"Have you ever tasted this?" He replied. "This right here is food for the gods, Frida. For the _gods_!" He stabs the fork into the noodles, slowly become more fluid in the hot water, and he stirs them around a bit and then brings a fork wrapped in curry noodles up to his mouth, purposefully smacking his lips and moaning as he eats.

"You're disgusting," Frida says, wrinkling her nose up at him and he flashes a sauce-stained grin at her. 

He cleans the bowl himself because he knows his mother hates mess, even if his own apartment is full of clutter and things he is yet to organise and put away. His mother comes in shortly after and he takes the tea cup out of her hand to wash it.

"You're welcome to stay the night," she says, a hopeful tone in her words, and Klaus smiles. 

"Hmm... I don't see why not," he says, tipping his head in a nod. His mother reaches up to rub his arm affectionately.

"I don't know how you don't catch your death in those clothes," she mutters, glancing him up and down, and Klaus does so too. He shrugs half heartedly, dries the mug he'd just cleaned and sets it aside.

"But I look hot," he grins, and the short woman snorts and shakes her head.

"How have you been,  _kliene_?" She asks, and Klaus' smile tightens and he shrugs once more.

"Busy," he simply tells her. "Being a super star medium comes with a surprising amount of work," he jokes, and his mother squeezes his arm gently. His mother has never really understood what Klaus' 'spiritual connection' or 'mediumship' or whatever technical term it is, but she's made an impressive effort to understand it as much as she can, and she's been supportive of it. Honestly, it makes Klaus' little heart swell for love for his mother. He could have easily been written off as schizophrenic, crazy, delusional; all of it. And she could have easily cut contact with him once they realised the extent of his whole situation. But, she hadn't, and Klaus thinks she was a great mother.

"And how has that been?" She asks pointedly. "I know you don't like it," she says, soft, and Klaus presses his lips together and shrugs. 

"Hey, what can you do about it?" He replies, hands in the air. Outside the window, in the middle of the road, stands a woman with a blue tint, eyes glossy and hands trembling as cars run right through her. 

He leans down to gently hug her, patting her shoulder. "Don't worry about me," he assures her, catches her eyes and holds her gaze until she nods and they go back to the living room.

"Well, I think I'm going to hit the hay," he announces, stretches his arms out above his head and yawns dramatically. He blows a kiss to Frida as he makes his way through the living room and towards his old bedroom, hollering a final goodnight over his shoulder.

 

His bedroom hasn't changed much since he was younger. His walls are covered in drawings and writing in a variety of languages; a lot of it's wrong, written as he heard it, but there'd always been ghosts speaking different languages to him. He thinks that's why he picked up languages so quickly as he aged. He's got his fairy lights up and they still turn on, and he's got his posters of  _Queen_ and other bands up. There's a nail polish stain on his floor from where he'd dropped the bottle when he was twelve, and there's a pink boa feather under his covers. 

He closes his bedroom door and opens the window, climbs out and crouches on the fire escape, and fishes for his cigarettes. He knows his mother doesn't like him smoking, but hey, he tells himself it's this or go back to blacking out every night and going to the hospital with alcohol poisoning. Klaus sighs, grimaces at those times, and lights his cigarette.

He's never been great with dealing with the ghosts, and if not for his gut-wrenching guilt upon seeing his mothers tear-stained face when he woke up in the hospital, Klaus thinks he'd probably still be living that life. He'd gone to those Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, done some work on improving himself, and he's certainly better than what he once was, he recognises that he still drinks more than one probably should. 

He's not blacked out in a while, however, so Klaus counts it as a victory.

He can still see that ghost on the road, watches as she flinches each time a car goes through her, and he lets out a smoky sigh. Sometimes it's obvious how someone died, and sometimes Klaus has no idea. It's obvious most of the time, however. People that died peacefully tend to just move on. It's the people who seem lost, or vengeful, or desperate that stick around and hound Klaus. He doesn't know which is the worst thing he's ever seen. He can close his eyes and remember the time a child had been wandering the streets, bruised and drenched. He had seen it in the news a few days later, but had heard it from the kids' blue lips. She had been drowned by her estranged father after he had killed his wife first, and after had shot himself. That one had always stuck with him.

There's also the ghosts that have been around for too long. He isn't sure how being a ghost really works, but he's come to realise that, unless one seems to have an anchor to the living world - i.e., Klaus - then they simply lose all ties to the human they once were, and they turn into crazed, desperate beings. They're rare to see, but horrific, and once they notice Klaus can see them then they never leave him alone. 

Klaus twitches, takes another long drag of his cigarette. He hates them.

However, he could still argue that there's one thing he hates more. It's rare - he's learned, now, how to protect himself from it happening most of the time - but he despises it each and every time it does happen. 

If he's particularly open, or the ghost is particularly determined or strong, then when they grab him his veins burn blue and he lives through the ghosts' death through their own eyes, and watches from a distance as his body moves out of his control. 

The thought sends shivers down his spine, makes him go through multiple cigarettes back to back and debate raiding his mother's alcohol cabinet. He can hear them all moving about, going to bed early, and it'd be easy to do. 

A sharp pain in his fingers jolts him out of the shadows of his mind, and he stamps his cigarette out quickly, sucking on the still stinging area of his finger until it ebbs away. Deciding that his lungs would benefit from it, he calls his smoking to an end and clambers back in through his window with his usual grace of a new born deer. He manages to catch his stack of CD's he almost kicks over before it can clatter to the floor. 

He leaves his lights on as he falls into his small bed, curling up to fit his long legs in it comfortably, and he hums a lullaby a dead mother used to sing to him when he was six.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this and like the idea! If you did, feel free to leave a kudos and a comment, I love hearing your feedback and appreciate it all!


	2. Two: live in years gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the positive feedback I received on the first part, I'm happy you all seem to like this idea! So, here's another part - and damn lengthy, just under 7K words!

A knock at his door startles Klaus out of his sleep, and he turns around in his bed to narrow his eyes at the door. 

"I'm making breakfast," his mother tells him, voice soft. "Scrambled eggs and toast. Would you like some?" 

He yawns, peels himself out of his bed. He feels hot and humid, feels his heart still pounding in his chest with the remnants of a nightmare still dying behind his eyelids.

"That'd be lovely," he replies with a lopsided smile, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with the heels of his hands. They come back with smudged black, and he remembers he forgot to take his eyeliner and lipstick off. Inwardly, he groans, and he heaves himself to his feet and towards the bathroom. Thankfully, Frida's not hogging it, though Klaus suspects that he takes longer than his sister does. 

He runs the shower as he discards the clothes aside, and he uses the hot spray of water to wash his face of smudged makeup. Usually he prefers baths - he can relax in them, soak and submerge himself and feel like he's floating - but he hasn't got the time this morning, so he settles on simply slathering himself in lavender body wash and confidently singing Patience and Prudence's  _Tonight You Belong to Me._

He towels off his hair and ties a towel around his hips, still humming under his breath as he leaves the bathroom. The smell of toast and eggs wafts from the kitchen and hurries to throw some clothes before going to the kitchen. Frida is sitting at the kitchen table, absentmindedly stirring her tea and watching the toaster. 

"Good morning, princess," she snorts, and Klaus flutters his eyelashes.

"I've had my beauty sleep and lavender body wash, so yes, I'm feeling as pretty as a princess," he says, hands framing his face, and then he slumps down into one of the dining chairs. 

"Sure look it," Frida comments, and Klaus purses his lips and pats his chest and his stomach. A plate slides onto the table in front of him, and a moment later is accompanied by a glass of orange juice, and Klaus smiles back up at his mother, uttering a thank you.

At his own apartment, his eating schedule was horrific. His diet mainly consisted of instant noodles or microwave meals, at like, one in the morning. Occasionally he'd shake it up and get a takeaway. Most of the time his meals were replaced by a couple of cigarettes, possibly accompanied by a glass of whiskey. Klaus is, in all senses, the peak of health.

He shovels food into his mouth, covering it with his hand as he chewed, and he moans.

"Your food's always great, mama," he says, smiling warmly. He finishes in record time, scraping up any crumbs left and draining his glass of juice before bringing them to the sink. 

"I really ought to be going soon," he adds "y'know, I'm a busy bee, buzz buzz."

"So soon?" His mother asks, and Klaus smiles sadly.

"The dead don't like to be kept waiting," he simply replies, and he reaches out to give her a quick hug and kiss her cheek.

"And you," he looks to his sister, peering at him from over her glass. "You - I'll see you around. Answer your phone next time I call!" 

He sees her give him a sheepish smile, nails tapping against her glass. "Sorry, bro," she says, sounding not sorry at all. Klaus waves his hand at her and then he begins to make his way out of the apartment. He skips down the stairs and outside, into the early morning chill, and he wraps his coat tighter around his thin body. Because no day has truly started without a smoke, Klaus fishes out his cigarettes and lights one, filling his lungs with smoke. His boots tap, tap, tap against the pavement and he feels too dull without any of his makeup on, only remnants of yesterdays that he didn't manage to scrub off in his quick shower. He might as well be naked without it. 

He crushes his cigarette with the toe of his boot and carries on walking down the streets. He wants to practice with his powers, today. Well, want to is a stretch, but some days his powers flare, strengthen or reveal something new, and it scares him. He doesn't like his powers in the first place, and the idea that he can't control them is worse.

He continues on until he reaches his little office, and he's surprised to see it's empty. No lingering ghosts, no mourning people outside. It's pleasant. He slides inside and kicks his boots off, putting them on the little shelf in the back corner, and he stretches out his muscles. Stretches his arms up above his head, stands on his tip toes and stretches, places his hands on his hips and leans back, listening to each satisfying crack of his bones. He rolls his neck and twitches his fingers, and then he goes about his dark room and lights some of the candles around, makes a mental note to clean up splatters of wax.

Satisfied, Klaus settles down on the floor, using the seat behind him as a back rest rather than actually sitting on it. He crosses his legs, lets out a long breath, and lets his eyes flutter closed. He focuses on the ever-present niggling in the back of his mind, the ebb and flow of somewhere else, a cold, dark place. He listens to whispers of death, hears a far off gunshot as a boyfriend kills his lover, feels the phantom water that drowned a careless, drunk teenager clog his own lungs. Hears too-late sirens echo in his ears. 

Klaus reaches out. Feels unrest dig in his bones, hopelessness bubble in his chest, and he grabs the source of it and pulls. His hands burn cold and he pries his eyelids open. In front of him, dripping water all over the floor, stands a boy - sixteen, probably. Give or take a year or two. He doesn't seem to realise his sudden conjuring, trembling fingers gripping his upper arms, wide eyes watching water drip from him and pool on the wooden floor.

Klaus lets him process it. He watches the boy, feels sadness wrap around his ribs for the boy. Eventually, he reaches out; extends a hand and clears his throat.

The boy whips his head to look at Klaus, and water dribbles out of his lips as teeth chatter. 

"My name's Klaus," he says, gentle, and he offers what he hopes is a warm smile. "I can help you. What's your name?"

The ghosts' eyes flick around the room, blue lips moving silently, until; "Tom... my name is Tom."

Klaus bobs his head in a nod, drops his hand back into his lap. "That's nice, that's a nice name," he tells him. The boy, Tom, seems to be gradually becoming more aware of everything now, less curled in on himself.

"I'm dead," he announces, and his voice doesn't tremble like earlier. "I died. How am... what?"

Klaus blows out a long breath and glances aside. "You were nearby," he says, shrugs, "so I conjured you here. I can help you move on, if that's what you want," he tells him, fingers twitching in restrained hand gestures. Tom slinks forwards, determination glinting where hopelessness once had. 

"What do you mean?" He presses. Klaus can see him digging his fingers into his skin, gripping onto himself.

Klaus cracks his slender fingers and beckons the ghost forward, refraining from cringing at the squelch of his footsteps, the way water gurgles in the back of his throat as he speaks.

"If you want to, I can help you move on. It's my thing," he simply repeated, pointedly looking down to his open 'HELLO' hand. 

Tom hesitates but he nods, looks emotional once more. "I - I want to," he agrees. "I can rest?" 

Klaus nods. "You can," he confirms, gentle.

"My family," he says, then, and Klaus tips his head.

"They'll be happy that you're happy," Klaus assures him. His fingers twitch. "Let me help you."

The boy shuffles over, unsure and hesitant, but he reaches out and visibly startles when his hand solidifies and comes into contact with Klaus', cold and heavy and wet.

Klaus grips onto him and hears the crash of waves, feels water burn in his lungs. The ghost in front of him flashes the same blue as his eyes.

"This is not your place," Klaus tells him, "it's time for you to move on." His 'GOODBYE' hand moves up, settles on his head. Water spills out past Klaus' lips. "I release you from this mortal world."

The ghost steadily grows brighter, a brilliant blue that thrums with energy that hums in Klaus' bones and then bursts out.

There's no ghost under his touch, now, and the phantom water in his lungs is gone and he can breathe once more. Klaus slumps back and drops his hands into his laps. It's quiet, no drip, drip, dripping of water from a drowned ghost. His bones throb. 

Klaus runs a hand through his hair and then reaches for his cigarettes. His lighter crackles and illuminates the dark room and the cigarette is bitter and scratching in his throat. It's familiar and steady and soothing, and he lights another one immediately after and mentally notes to empty his dangerously full ash tray. 

Klaus thinks he's gotten pretty good at banishing ghosts, or whatever. He knows hot to do it quickly, so long as the ghost itself is willing to cooperate with him. He's fine with doing that. Something he wants to practice, however, is physically manifesting the ghosts. He's never really been able to practice this and he can't control it because of this. Sometimes it happens without him meaning it, and usually when he wants it least. He wants to be able to perfect it, to stop the accidents when ghosts scratch and claw at him, but what's the chances of finding a ghost that happens to be down to just hang around him and cooperate with him, happy to stay in a place where only Klaus can interact with them, happy to never grow and progress, happy to deny the chance of eternal peace? Very, very slim. 

So, Klaus isn't really great at physically manifesting them. They do it whenever they want and Klaus has to just try and stop them. Often times, it doesn't work the way he wants.

Klaus' nose twitches. He closes his eyes and he feels himself fall back. He feels his body melt as he dips into limbo and he keeps his eyes closed tightly. He doesn't need to see them to know they're coming; Klaus sticks out like a beacon in the realm of the dead. He hears voices speak in languages Klaus doesn't know yet he can imagine exactly what they're saying, and there's one consistent words between them all;  _Klaus._

They chant his name like an ancient hymn, holy and damned, screamed in desperation and fury. Klaus' eyes are closed but he can see chapped lips, bloody teeth stained red-pink, moving in the rhythm of their cursed song _Klaus, Klaus, Klaus, Klaus, KlausKlausKlausKlausKlaus._

He falls back into reality with a harsh jerk of his body, his limbs lashing out and knocking over his ash tray, his head jerking and hitting his table. A curse tumbles past his lips, loud and startled, and his eyes fly open. The room is full of corpses, staring at him. Some look normal; if not for the transparency, Klaus might have thought they were alive. Others look horrific; all blood and gore. And then they erupt; fall into hell's choir of screams, pleading damned souls and Klaus remembers in for eight, hold for seven, out for four. In for eight, hold for seven, out for four. In for eight, hold for seven, out for four. It's hard to follow that, however, when deaths play out on his eyelids and the aftermath of bloody deaths sob in his ears.

He fights his reaction to run, instead reaching out and clamping his hand on the half-head in front of him. Blood, cold, stains his fingers and he breathes out  _I release you from this mortal world_ in a tangle of his tongue and it's gone. The rest hound in, beg for life, for justice, and when Klaus tries to wave them away, dismiss them from sight, they don't move. His fists clench and fingers twitch but they don't even waver. Someone recounts bible verses.

Klaus pulls himself to his feet and steps through his mess of cigarette-ash and corpse blood until small stones dig into the soles of his feet and cold morning air bites his pale skin. They're still loud and yelling, now accompanied by brief, odd glances from the living.

He takes a moment to compose himself, in for eight, hold for seven, out for four, in for eight, hold for seven, out for four, and then he stretches his back and his arms and clenches his fists. Under his breath he mutters  _"fuck off"_ and when he turns back around, the ghosts are gone. Klaus smiles shakily to himself, and he pushes the door open and goes back inside. 

He's got one living customer later on, just before lunch, and Klaus isn't sure he really wants to stick around here otherwise. He finds his shoes and shoves his feet in after wiping them off. He stares at the mess of cigarette butts and ash on the floor and he pinches the bridge of his nose. At least none of them were still lit or smouldering; the place would have probably been ablaze by now if that were the case. 

He thinks about the fact he really ought to have a vacuum cleaner in here, but for now the best he can do is sweep it up and pour it into the little bin in the corner of the room and take it out to the trash on his way out. He blows out the candles, not ready for this place to actually burn to the ground, and he flips the sign to  _closed_ too eagerly and locks it up. He'll be back for lunch. He only lives, like, fifteen minutes away.

He starts his walk by plugging his ears with his earphones and blaring Chaka Kan's  _I'm Every Woman_ in his ears and perching a new cigarette between his lips. His pack is running low, only three left, and he knows it's because he's basically been chain smoking this lately. He makes a mental note to buy another pack or two or three from the corner shop on his way back, and then he's taking the steps two at a time and arriving at his apartment door.

His apartment is a small thing, and he doesn't really mind that. Sometimes he feels a little too trapped in its walls and small rooms, but he doesn't actually need much more room. He's got his living room - slash - kitchen and dining room, all brightly coloured. The walls are light blue and light grey with the back kitchen wall exposed black brick, and he has one long couch that's faded green and drowned in blankets and pillows. The coffee table, sitting atop a round, frayed rug, is overflowing with takeaway trash and a shameful amount of vodka bottles and rum bottles and cans of cider. There's the ever present smell of cigarette smoke that clings to all the furniture and somehow hasn't yet killed the overwhelming amount of plants hanging from every shelf and little nook and cranny and window sill. His bathroom has an ugly painting of a little lighthouse that Klaus, personally, adores, and his shower needs cleaned and there's speckles of spat out toothpaste on his sink that he's yet to scrub off. His bedroom is fair size considering the overall size of his apartment. The walls are a lovely emerald green colour and the floor's dark brown wood covered by clothes he's pulled out of his wardrobe, tall and the same black wood as his bed post. His bed is queen sized and has a thick duvet with a bright tie-dye pattern on it, matching his pillows, and there's a faux fur blanket curled up in the corner of the bed. He has four main pillows, two for each side of his bed, but then he has extra pillows he uses and decoration pillows and he's also got every little stuffy animal he's had since a child piled up on their side of his bed, under and on top of the blanket. He's got a large mirror hanging on the wall by the window that he's covered up and he's got a small desk shoved under his window. There's makeup stains and nail polish spills on it, and in stead of a seat he has a thick, fluffy foot-stool for it, because it's the only thing that would fit under the small wooden desk. His curtains don't do too much to block out the light, which is fine because he  _hates_ the dark. He has multiple lamps around and even more candles and fairy lights that he almost broke his neck to hang up - somehow, he manages to forget that he's actually pretty tall by average standards and he pulls out every trick he's seen his five-two sister use to try and reach the top shelf at home. There's a poster of Lady Gaga in the corner, followed by Elvis Presley, Freddie Mercury, Cher and the  _Mamma Mia_ poster. 

Klaus loves his bedroom. He opens the windows and turns on his fairy lights, finds his record player balanced in the corner of his desk, and starts up the vinyl record on it. As music begins to pour off of the record Klaus slumps onto the foot stool seat and sighs when he sees himself in the mirror. So plain. He searches for his eyeliner that he always uses and he begins to apply it messily around his eyes, trying not to poke his eyes out, and for the effect he smudges it out a little. Then there's his mascara to really make his eyes  _pop_ and finally, his black lipstick.  _Better,_ he thinks, and grins wide enough that it hurts the corners of his mouth and then he rises in a fluid motion. 

His hands itch to do something, fingers dancing along piano keys made out of air, and his eyes burn with the recently deceased. He lets his hands find comfort in a familiar glass bottle and twist the lid off, revels in the satisfying  _snap_ as he takes the lid off of his untouched Smirnoff bottle. He spares a second to brace himself and send a prayer to the devil above before taking a sip straight. As much as he drinks it, he can never get used to the horrid taste of it, or the way it burns down his throat and makes itself known in his stomach even a minute after he's swallowed it. And then, after he shakes his head and lets out a little " _woo!"_ , he goes for it again. 

It's a ritual Klaus can find comfort in. Pour some vodka in with your morning coffee, take a shot or two or three whenever everything threatens to overflow, and drown the fear down with some whiskey and nicotine. It works, in the end, even if it's probably going to be the reason he ends up in an early grave. Hey, he's here for a good time, and that's not happened yet so he'll keep drinking until it does become a good time.

He's not hungry from breakfast so instead he pours vodka into a water bottle, grabs his bag of trail mix and seeds, and turns his music and lights off and leaves his house once more. He pops into the corner shop to waste his money on cigarettes again, and then he continues on his walk. It takes another fifteen minutes and he feels pleasantly buzzed by the time he reaches it, but it's worth it.

There's a little park near his house, and by little he means fairly big. There's a pond that he likes to sit at and chuck seeds at the ducks - he heard somewhere that bread was bad for them, but they like some seeds, so he gets that for them now - and at any other birds or any squirrels that come near him. Families come to let their kids play and people let their dogs run around and sometimes he can pet the dogs if the owner doesn't think he's some crackhead, which is nice. They have seasonal festivals which he really enjoys. Sometimes there's an ice cream van, too.

Klaus settles into the grass at one end of the pond, careful to be quiet and not disturb the swimming ducks. He once saw a video of how they swam and for some reason it never crossed his mind that they use their legs to paddle under the water, but they do. He's never been able to quite get over that. 

He flicks seeds at them, making sure to let each duck get a fair share, and since he isn't one to sit and do nothing while others eat he swaps out seeds for his vodka. He's on edge already today after leaving his mothers, and he blames the ghosts from earlier, though it might be the years of building up stress and trauma that he refuses to talk about. Whatever it is, it usually goes in the tide of vodka and duck-watching, but it's still there in the tension tattooed in his shoulder muscles, in his fidgety fingers and bit lip, in his smokers cough from the morning chill and chain-smoke clogging his lungs. If he wasn't so busy trying to keep his mind wandering, pleasantly separate from his body, he would be frustrated with this.

He throws more seeds at the ducks. Wonders why he, of all people, can actually see the dead. Are there other people out there that can? Are there others out there born with some freak superpower? He wonders if theirs is as much of a pain in the ass to deal with.

Klaus actually thinks about that quite a bit. His mother told him a few years back that when he was born, two days after, some man had shown up in a suit asked her how much. _How much._

How much for Klaus, he had meant. Some man had, somehow, heard about his birth and wanted to _buy_ him. His mother had been offered a pretty price, too, one that Klaus probably wouldn't have refused. But then again, Klaus wasn't female and couldn't give birth to some freak child, even if his mother had been pregnant with Klaus for approximately fifteen minutes before giving birth.

It was odd as all hell, sure, but Klaus didn't really actually care about the circumstances concerning his birth. His mother had thought there had been others like that; news stories of women suddenly giving birth without being pregnant, but Klaus had never paid attention and never looked into it. Maybe he should. It was probably way too late, now. He was twenty-nine; any other functioning member of society would be married by now, with kids of their own - hopefully conceived and birthed naturally.  

His mother often asked if Klaus was 'talking' to anyone, if there was a someone special in his life, if he ever thought about adoption - they'd never addressed it, but Klaus' mother had always asked about  _boyfriends_ and Klaus realised she'd never been wrong in saying that. 

Klaus also realised he'd zoned out for god knows how long, and he brought himself back to reality with a puff of a freshly-lit cigarette. He wondered, also, how his lungs were still working. 

Whatever. Not important. The burn of vodka chases that thought away, replaces lungs with liver, and Klaus decides that's enough of thinking time and hauls himself to his feet. If he walks extremely slowly, does a couple laps of the park first and takes a detour or two, he might arrive in time for his living customer and no time to ponder existence. Klaus decides to do that and dumps the last of the seeds in a pile on the grass so that the ducks and other birds can help themselves too it, and then he begins making laps.

It's a Saturday so there are quite a few people around, living their own lives, and Klaus is but a fleeting image passing through their day and that thought is comforting to him, somehow. 

He occupies his wandering mind by studying the plants and surroundings as he goes, listens to the crunch of twigs under his feet, the far-off barking of dogs and the quiet, almost silent scamper of tiny squirrels and the caw of crows. It's relaxing. There's no ghosts here and life is almost normal. Klaus feels like a bystander, a spectator to the life going on around him, like a ghost that's invisible and insignificant as the world continues to turn and live with or without him, and Klaus could, if he let himself, just stand and melt into the earth, forget all language and thought and just watch and feel the earth go on.

Instead, he puts one foot in front of the other and he ends up switching from a trodden trail in the park to a gum-littered pavement and then the floor of his place. He blinks rapidly and grounds himself, flips the open sign once more and lights some candles. He kicks his shoes across the room and pours some water in with his vodka, deciding that if he doesn't then things are going to get messy with him, and he falls onto his couch and listens to his own heartbeat, watches the shadows cast by flickering candlelight dance around the room.

Eventually, he hears the chime go outside. Someone alive, then, and Klaus clambers to his feet. He waits a couple of minutes before striding from his seats to the other side of the room and opening the door to the waiting room.

There's two people there. A woman, probably around Klaus' age, and a man who's bleeding all over Klaus' seats. Dead, then, and probably the reason he's looking at the woman. He gives her a smile.

"You must be Miss Fischer," he greets, and the woman inclines her head slightly.

"That's me," she confirms, offers him a shaky smile that doesn't meet her eyes. She glances Klaus up and down; his eccentric clothes, his bare feet, his perfect makeup. She doesn't comment but Klaus knows she's beginning to doubt coming here. They always do.

Klaus lets the door close behind him as he comes close, gestures for her to sit back down as he takes a seat, too.

"Can I ask what you're hoping to get out of today?" He inquires. One long leg crosses over the other as he watches Miss Fischer smooth her skirt out. 

"I, uh... my friend. He's, uh, he's dead. I want to talk to him... say goodbye, I guess," she says. There's a determination in her eyes that Klaus respects and he nods.

"No problem. We'll do all that in there," he gestures to the door he came from, "but I need to go over some stuff first. Business, y'know. Do you know how your friend died?" He has to keep these conversations short and to the point. Being soft gets them nowhere but ends up with the customer crying, and it all goes smoother the quicker they can get this part over with. The brunette in front of him swallows and nods.

"I ask because if you want to see him, physically see him again, you're going to see him the way he died. I can't do anything about that, so it's up to you whether you want to speak to him face to face or if you want me to," he waves a hand, "repeat what he says."

The ghost in question is listening as intently as the woman is, leaning forwards with blood-slick hands on his knees. He wears an expression of doubt, and Klaus doesn't blame him. He doesn't like interacting with them until he's spoken to the living person, first. It makes everything more messy.

"I want to see him," she tells him, firm, and Klaus nods.

"I can't promise you'll be able to touch him. If his connection to this world is strong enough, you might be. But you'll have to understand you might go right through him." Something that always scares them. And what he's said is bullshit; it all relies on him, but he's not about to say that and get her hopes up only to crush it with his weakness.

"And I can't bring him back. For your own sake and his, I'm not going to let you keep making sessions so you can see him all the time." People have tried that before. It tears them apart. Klaus can't stand seeing both the ghost and living person like that.

"I understand," she says, and Klaus smiles wide, black lips framing his white teeth. 

"Then lets go," he replies and stands up. He guides her inside and closes the door behind the ghost who follows them, and leads them to the seats in the back.

She looks hesitant; scared, maybe, to be following some stranger into a dark, eerie room to discuss ghosts. Klaus can't blame her.

She sits down at Klaus' gesture, folding her legs and holding the hem of her skirt.

"How does this... how does this all work? Do I need to do something - I have some things of his, if you need it," she tells him and Klaus shakes his head.

"No need," he smiles. The ghost clears his throat, angry. 

"This is utter bullshit. Get her hopes up like that, you fucking bastard. Exploiting grieving people - disgusting. Disgusting."

Klaus turns to look at him. "You can sit, too, if you want," he says, only to see the ghost startle. "Or keep standing. Whatever you're comfortable with," he shrugs. The woman's breath catches in his throat.

"He's - is he here?"

Klaus gives her a tight lipped smile. "He entered the place right behind you," he admits to her. He turns back to the ghost and extends a hand. "This usually goes better if I can touch you," he tells him, looking pointedly at his open palm. He ignores the ghosts' shocked expression and waits patiently until he staggers forwards and slides a cold, bloody hand in his. It doesn't fall right through and Klaus can feel blood. He tightens his grip on the mans arm, stares right into his wide eyes until they lose the transparency and the man is standing right in front of them, solid. 

There's a gasp and a sob and Klaus lets go, sits back and looks away. He hears a thud as they hug, hears tears from both parties and hurried, hushed talking. He feels awkward and guilty, as if he's intruding on their private moment, but he knows if he goes then the ghost will crumble and fall through her. He can feel the chill of death in his veins as he uses himself as an anchor, and he focuses rather on the smell of cigarette smoke on his clothes rather than the two reunited lovers.

He isn't sure how long they spend, but keeping him physically manifested - he's lucky today - makes his eyelids heavy and he's startled out of his tired daze when the ghost grips his shoulder. He has to restrain himself from leaping out of his cold, unwelcome touch. 

"We're ready," he says, voice thick. There are tear tracks on his face but his death wounds are gone. Klaus knows the glint in his eyes is that of peace and acceptance.

"Are you sure?" He asks, looks over the two of them. They're both teary-eyed and still silently crying, but there's smiles on their faces and they look more at peace. They nod, and Klaus sits up more.

"I can let you go," he tells the ghost, "you can find peace, or you can stay as a ghost. I've already told her that I'm not going to keep manifesting you for you to see one another, so whatever happens now is final for the two of you. Be sure of it," he says. His fingers drum on his knees and they look at each other. The woman nods and the man lets out a breath he'd been holding.

"I want - I want to go," he says, and Klaus doesn't question it. He opens his hands once more and reaches for him, and the ghost hesitates. He flickers blue, the same blue glowing from Klaus' hands, and he gives his lover one last hug while he can before inching, hesitant, to Klaus' side.

Klaus' fingertips travel up the mans hands, up his arms and he holds his face between his hands, slowly blinks his blue eyes and whispers  _"I release you from this mortal world. You can go now."_

The ghost flickers blue and stays that way, and then he simply dissolves like dust in Klaus' hands until there's no trace of him. Klaus blinks himself back to reality and lets out a shaky breath, clears his tight throat and stands up. The woman is still standing in the same spot, hands close to her chest, and then she whispers, "thank you."

They walk outside together. Klaus is done for the day with ghosts and there's a pit in him that he can't explain but he's ready to fill it with more vodka until he's unaware of it.

Outside, the woman still lingers and watches his shaking hands light a cigarette.

"I didn't think you were legit," she admits. She does seem happier, now. There's a carefreeness to her that Klaus doesn't like.

"Most people don't," Klaus tells her with a shrug. She raises her eyebrows slightly at the cigarette and Klaus shares it with her, breathing out clouds into the clear sky.

"Still... I can't thank you enough," she tells him. "He's at - at peace now, right?" She asks, and Klaus simply nods. He has no idea what happens when he releases the ghosts. Maybe they go to Heaven or Hell, or they simply completely cease to be. 

"Yeah," he goes for instead, because he's not a complete asshole. "He is."

They stand for a few more moments until Klaus speaks up, looking down at her. "I can't promise you'll - y'know - go to the same place. When you die, too," he says, and the woman's eyes flash in understanding. "If you'll be together or not. Think about it. Please."

She lets out a long breath and Klaus knows her mind was made as soon as she saw her dead lover.

"Thanks," she says instead, and Klaus' shoulders slump slightly. He stamps out his cigarette with the toe of his shoe. 

"Take care," Klaus replies, and then they part ways.

 

The day is still young so Klaus gets lunch from a nearby Subways - a six inch Italian, of course - and heads home with it. He settles on the mess of blankets and cushions and unwraps the sandwich and kicks his feet up, alternating between biting into the mess of ingredients and going for his vodka. In his opinion, today was a beautiful day to get blacked out once more. 

He debates whether or not to take his rubbish out and to actually clean his house, but he stands up and the room spins and he catches himself on the table and sniggers. God, he's clumsy. 

He turns his music back on in his bedroom and sways to it, bobbing himself to the beat and shaking the tensions out of his long limbs. Everything's fine. He's great. If he can reach the bottom of the bottle in his hand then he'll be perfect. 

He falls onto his bed, careful to not squash any of his stuffed animals or hit his head, and he closes his eyes and lets the music wash over him. His fingers tap to the beat, head bobbing side to side, and at some point the now-empty water bottle of vodka falls out of his hand and he has enough sense to turn on his side before he falls asleep.

He knows he's only out for a little while - half an hour or so - and he falls out of bed rather than gracefully standing. He decides that this isn't good enough because even if his stomach flips dangerously, he was only out for half an hour and he can still walk, it's not good enough. He makes his way through to the living room to find the rest of the bottle of vodka he'd opened that he hadn't put in the water bottle. He smudges his makeup by rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his hand and he manages to change vinyl records without breaking them, and he manages to light a cigarette without burning himself. It's nice. He can focus on not dropping the lit cigarette on his flammable bed sheets and he can focus on keeping his head up and trying to not spill more vodka, his clothes already reeking of it. It's a familiar smell and Klaus thinks someone should make a candle of it if they haven't already.

He falls as he puts his cigarette out and decides that the floor is comfortable enough, and he's curled up and humming to himself when he hears it; a scuffle of feet, someone clearing their throat.

Klaus jumps to his feet and sees a man standing but a few feet away from him. He startles and his balance goes, but he manages to lob the bottle of vodka at the intruder, only for it to go right through the man.

Dead.

It actually makes Klaus relax. He's not about to be murdered by some Victorian-era looking man. 

He's tall, with white hair and a magnificent moustache, Klaus thinks, and a monocle perched in front of one eye. He regards Klaus with something akin to disgust.

"Uh... hello?" Klaus greets, waving a hand from his position on the floor. "Can I help you? I don't appreciate ghosts in my bedroom," he says, gives a little laugh that makes his shoulders bounce. Klaus likes a man in a suit, sure, but he has to draw a line somewhere.

"I've heard of you," the man says. He takes a few steps closer, looking around his bedroom and smoothing out his suit. He looks more in control of death than Klaus is. "Klaus Schmidtt. A German medium born on the first of October, nineteen-eighty-nine, that can physically conjure the dead. Such possibilities... look at you now," he mutters the last bit but Klaus can still easily pick it up, and it makes him defensive. Sure, he's drunk as all hell (unfortunately sobering up quickly now), makeup a mess and clothes similar to what one may find in some seedy adult club, but that doesn't mean anything about his _character_. Don't judge a book by its cover and all that.

"That would be me, correct," Klaus confirms with a nod. He hauls himself up with his bed and sits on the edge, leaning back against the headboard.

"You are needed for something more important," he says, turning his cold gaze back to Klaus. "Pack a bag. You need to leave immediately."

"Woah, woah, woah, woah; just hold up one minute," Klaus says, holding his hands out and gesturing for him to slow down. "Look, I'm closed right now. Go - go watch the ducks in the pond for a while or something, I'll banish you later, or something." He waves him off dismissively, slumping into his bed and hoping he just goes away. Instead, he hears his footsteps come closer behind him.

"Listen to me, boy, and listen well. There are things bigger than you can imagine that are bound to happen. You've been involved in this the day you were born, whether you've known it or not. Now it's your time to be involved," he says, cold, and Klaus groans and sits up.

"Who - who are you?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. "Because that's some seriously fucked up stuff you just said - have you been watching me since I was born?" He accuses, and then his eyes blow wide. "You're that dude!" He gasps. "You tried to fucking buy me!"

The man lets out a sigh. "I am," he says, "and I should have. You would have been... so much better than this," he says, looking disdainfully at the cigarette butts and the vodka bottles. 

"So, you're dead now," Klaus announces dumbly, because  _now_ he's interested in this. "Okay, fine. I'm listening."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, please feel free to leave a kudos and a comment - I appreciate it all! 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr @ veteranklaus


	3. Three: your boldness stands alone among the wreck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

That night is an utter mess.

The man - Klaus comes to learn he's called Reginald Hargreeves - speaks in a way that makes Klaus want to rip his hair out. He's utterly sober and exhausted by the end of it, only there _is_ no end to it. He speaks to Klaus in vague phrases, as if he doesn't think he needs to tell Klaus more than the basics of this - the Umbrella Academy with five members like himself, superpowered, is about to come together for the first time in years and they're about to encounter a great difficulty, and apparently Klaus is a part of it. If his mother hadn't adamantly refused his extremely generous offer for her son, Klaus would have already been at the academy and would be looking out for news of Reginald's death to go to the funeral and first-hand experience what was about to happen.

That, at first, is all he says. And how in the hell is Klaus supposed to make much sense of any of that? 

It's hard to get much more out of him; he flickers in and out of this realm, and he seems intent on blaming _Klaus_ for that; telling him to get his powers under control. It infuriates him, but he just waits for him to flicker out of existence once and for all.

When he does, Klaus does his research. He looks up this Umbrella Academy and Reginald Hargreeves and reads up about it all.

The Umbrella Academy was formed by Reginald after 'adopting' six children born under the same conditions as Klaus. These children all have powers, like himself, and that is probably where Klaus would have gone had his mother accepted Reginald's money. There's news stories of them all that Klaus reads, and plenty of interviews with Reginald and a few with the kids. They're numbered in the order of - something, it doesn't say and Klaus doesn't ask. There's Number One, AKA Spaceboy, AKA Luther Hargreeves. He spent four years on the moon (Klaus is slightly jealous, he loves the moon) and has super strength. There's Number Two, AKA The Kraken, AKA Diego. He can hold his breath indefinitely and curve any object in motion, which he tends to use in knives. There's Number Three, AKA The Rumour, AKA Allison. She has the ability to - what? - hypnotise people, in a sense, and now she's a superstar in movies. Klaus wonders how much of that is talent and how much of that is her powers. There's Number Four, AKA The Horror, AKA Ben, who apparently had monsters from other dimensions under his skin. He, currently, is deceased, this reports, and has been for some time now. There's Number Five, AKA The Boy. He doesn't have a name. Number Five was a genius who could teleport and time travel, and he went missing, presumed dead, at the age of thirteen. Finally, there's Number Six. Her name's Vanya and she's the only one who doesn't have powers. She wrote a book about being in the academy, and Klaus writes the title and author on his hand in pink sharpie. 

At some point, Reginald disappears. He's not necessarily upset by this, and so he takes the time alone to shove some shoes on and head down to the bookstore.

It's a nice little place full of old books, and Klaus knows the cashier. He wanders up towards her, narrowly dodging knocking into the bookshelves and stacks of books.

"Klaus," she greets with a smile, "long time no see!"

The cashier is a short, plump little thing, with long blonde hair and chocolate eyes. She moved in from Texas years ago and she's been nothing but a sweetheart to everyone. She even gave Klaus a lift to some of his old Alcoholics Anonymous meetings a couple years ago.

"Lucy! My old friend!" He beams, and he reaches over the counter to give her a hug. "How's it going?" He asks, leaning down on the counter and propping his chin up on his hand.

"Ah, you know, all the same. Still got this old thing to tend to," she says, gesturing around the shop. "And you? Still smoking I see," she says, wrinkling her nose slightly, and Klaus gives her a sheepish smile.

"What can I say, you got me," he says, raising his hands in defeat. "Still got a few things that need to kick the bucket, but hey - I'm alive and conscious! Much better than the last time you saw me!" He points out, which is true. The last time she'd seen him was on the floor in some strangers house party, half naked and choking on his own vomit. She had made him promise to let her know if he was going out or having a bad day, and he actually had that night. Klaus didn't want to know what would have happened if he hadn't. That had been one night Klaus still couldn't really remember.

Lucy's lips twitch and she tips her head. "Definitely," she says. Klaus regrets bringing it up; she had been completely shaken by that night, and it seemed the memories still shook her. 

"Anyway, enough of that," Klaus quickly says, "I need a book. It's, uh,  _Extraordinary_ by Vanya Hargreeves. Think you've got it?" He asks, drumming his fingers on the counter.

The woman purses her lips in thought but tips her head. "I'll go check, give me a second." She rounds the counter and goes through some door in the back of the room. Klaus takes the time to look around the place after jumping up to sit on the edge of the counter, crossing one leg over the other. He's still pleasantly drunk though unfortunately nowhere near as much as he was before mystery man showed up in his apartment, and he's just really going with it, now. He has a feeling that the moment he's physically able to, the man's going to throttle the life out of Klaus if he refuses to go to this academy. 

He's swinging his legs over the edge of the counter when Lucy returns, brandishing a surprisingly thick book. 

"Here it is," she says, smiling at him. She hands it over and Klaus blows out a long breath.

"Here I thought I could just skim through it," he mutters, flicking through some of the pages. 

"Can I ask what this is all for?" She leans forwards curiously. "I've heard a bit about the Umbrella Academy - news and all. You thinking of going over there?" 

Klaus shrugs his shoulders and sighs. "Well, kind of," he says. "The owner dude of it, the Reginald guy, he's dead. Showed up in my room a couple of hours ago, now he's demanding I go to the academy and do some shit - it's crazy, really. Did you know the dude tried to buy me when I was born? Imagine that. Anyhow, I've not really got much going on here, so I figure, why not, eh?"

Lucy gives him  _that_ look and Klaus raises his hands in defence. "What!?" He exclaims. "I'm not lying! And I've always wanted a little holiday, so why not?" He raises his eyebrows at her and Lucy just chuckles.

"I mean, you do you, Klaus," she shrugs, "it could be interesting. Maybe it'll help you with your whole, thing," she adds, and Klaus hums. Maybe it will. 

"How much?" Klaus asks, turning the book over to look for the price tag.

Lucy waves her hand. "It's all yours, Klaus," she tells him. "Consider it a gift, or whatever. And hey, if you're leaving the country; take care of yourself, for once," she requests, touching his forearm, and Klaus stares at her silently for a moment. Then he nods his head and smiles.

"You got it," he promises, and then he leans forwards and plants a kiss on her cheek before sliding off the counter. "Thank you for the book my darling, I'll see you around!" 

She waves him goodbye as he leaves the bookstore and continues back down the street towards his house, balancing a cigarette in one hand and the book in the other. He hadn't expected the book to be so large and he isn't sure if he wants to read it anymore, honestly. The woman on the cover is pretty but she looks pale and sad, and Klaus wonders just what exactly the Umbrella Academy had been like. Reginald had made out to be some genius creation, some place to hone human weapons or whatever, yet he had spoken about it with disappointment in his tone, too. Klaus isn't really sure what to think of it, so he simply continues on his way home and collapses onto his bed. There's no ghosts, but there is still vodka in the bottle on the floor and he sits, legs crossed, with the book on his lap and bottle in his hands. He starts reading.

It takes a while for him to get into it, really. Not only is his attention span naturally short, but he can feel all the emotions the author had while writing them, can sense them in all the words. Her anger and her frustration, her loneliness and love for her family and at the same time her own issues with each of them. From this book, Klaus doesn't read anything promising. Number One sounds like a complete daddies boy and suck up, and Klaus already has a dislike for Reginald. Number Two is a wild card though intrigues Klaus. Number Three seems to be nice to the author, but Klaus suspects that the woman has some issues stemming from getting everything she's ever wanted. Number Four - well, he's dead, but the book makes him out to be the best of all of them when he was still alive. Number Five, again, there isn't much. Short tempered and witty, always striving for more, but light humoured and friendly with his siblings. Nice to the author. The author, herself, is the one without any powers. Neglected from the family, it seems. Forgotten and put aside, and Klaus can taste the bitterness she holds from it. He can't blame her. Part of him - a large part of him - is now extremely glad his mother didn't accept Reginald's offer.

So, it seems, he isn't going to be walking into some pristine place of well-oiled human machines, but rather some dysfunctional family mess. Which is fine. Klaus is familiar with dysfunctionality and he can slip right into that; it'll be fine.

Klaus makes his decision that night. He'll go, because why not, really. 

He falls out of his bed and finds a bag and begins throwing clothes into it while balancing his phone between his cheek and his shoulder.

"Hey, mama," he says into the phone. "How's it going? Me? No, no, I'm fine, can't I just check in with my mother? Well, I do actually have some news, but still. Oh, I've not really been busy - you know how it is. I saw Lucy at the bookstore earlier, actually; she's doing well. You should catch a coffee with her or something, I'm sure she'd like that. I would, but that brings me onto the next part - I, uh, I'm going on a little holiday; surprise! Well, it's more of a work holiday than a holiday-holiday, but still. No - you know the dude who tried to buy me? That guy? Yeah, him! Well, he's dead now, apparently. He showed up in my bedroom earlier and he wants me to go sort some stuff out; he got a few other kids like me, with powers and everything. But yeah - he's dead and some stuff is gonna happen, apparently, and I need to go help with some stuff, mama. I'm packing a bag now... Yeah, yeah, I know. I mean, maybe, but who knows - and plus! I've always wanted to go to Canada! It'll be fun - I'll bring back a souvenir for you and Frida. I just thought I should tell you, y'know. Yes, I know... I know... of course. I promise, I'll be fine. I'll send you pictures. Yeah, I love you too, mama. I got to go, but I'll talk to you soon!"

His mother hangs up the phone and Klaus shoves it into the pocket of his tight leather trousers. He stares at the mess of clothes in the bag and drops in a couple of packets of cigarettes, and then he pulls up flights on his phone. There's one in three hours. Klaus raises his eyebrows, mutters "fuck it" and buys his ticket. He grabs his passport, closes his curtains and leaves his house. There's a taxi stop a few minutes away and his leg bounces the entire way there. At some point someone appears in the seat beside him.

"You're going. Good," Reginald says stiffly, and Klaus tips his head minutely. "Pogo knows of your existence. He will most likely great you at the door - simply tell him your name. The rest of the academy will most likely already be there."

"You seem pretty sure that they'll all show up," Klaus murmurs, and he realises that seems more rude than he meant it to and Reginald fixes him with a look. Klaus thinks he's too used to being in a position of utter authority.

"Of course they will," he replies. He turns to look out the window. "You're going and you've not known my name for more than five hours."

Klaus thinks he has a point there and so he shuts up and watches buildings drive by. The flight is around eight hours long and Klaus has never been good at sitting still for so long, so he buys a crossword in the airport and some beer on the plane and he plugs his earphones in. He's sitting next to a young couple and the woman scolds her boyfriend when he snorts at Klaus' appearance. He has to slide out a few times when they need out for the bathroom and he tries to curl up as best as he can, all six foot of him stuck in the tiny aeroplane seats, and he thinks he drifts off to sleep a few times with Ariana Grande singing in his ears.

The plane lands smoothly and Klaus grabs his bag from the overhead bins and heads out into the grand airport. His legs are stiff and sore from being cramped most of the long flight and he does a few laps of the place to stretch them out. He buys a coffee to keep his eyes open and, much to his displeasure, he realises he's still many hours from the academy and one taxi is only willing to go so far. It's getting late, too, so Klaus clambers into a taxi and asks the driver to take him to the city centre. 

It's nice. There's some street musicians and the streets are still bustling, muffled music flowing out of windows and doors of pubs and bars and clubs, and there's large bright signs around and Klaus could just wander around looking at the little street stalls and window shopping. He would, too, but the ghost following him is keeping him more tense than it should. He's not used to ghosts following him around like this and he decides he doesn't like it. And plus, the man just gives him the creeps in general. Klaus can, usually, banish the ghosts with a twitch of his hands but this one seems more grounded, stronger and more anchored to Klaus. It makes his bones feel weary and the first liquor shop he finds, he goes into it.

"You depend too much on this," Reginald mutters behind him. Klaus deigns to ignore him, chin in hand as he looks over all the liquor. He's used to vodka, but maybe he'll shake it up today. There's some whiskey, which he enjoys, or some wine, but that gives him a killer hangover. He reaches for some whiskey and reads all the labels until he finds one with a high alcohol percentage, and he couples it with old faithful; peach schnapps.

"Honestly. It hinders your powers," he continues. Klaus pays for the alcohol and once they leave the shop Klaus turns to glare at him.

"Sorry, but you're dead. I can do whatever I chose to do. And Christ, I wish it did," he snorts. He pulls his bag further up his shoulder and uses his phone to look up nearby motels. He follows its directions, taking random turns. Reginald follows closely after him, looking tense and, once more, disappointed. Klaus thinks that's the only expression he can make.

"You could have been great, had your mother accepted my offer. Now you're an alcoholic. I expected more from you," he sighs, and Klaus whips around.

"I don't even know you!" He exclaims, throwing his hands up. "And, hey, you don't actually know me either. And, and - I read Vanya's book. Some of it. No offense, but it doesn't sound like the rest of your 'academy' are doing great, either. I am more than happy to fuck off back to Germany and let your academy play out - you haven't even told me what exactly is going to happen, by the way. _You_ should be grateful I was bored enough to get a fucking plane to another country to do this," he states, pointing an accusatory finger at Reginald. The man's cheeks puff out as he stares Klaus down. Klaus doesn't relent, either. Rather than saying anything, Klaus watches as Reginald becomes much more transparent and after a few seconds, he's completely gone. 

He barks out a laugh and shakes his head. Turning around, Klaus continues following Google Maps to the nearest motel.

It's cheap and visibly so, but it'll do for the night. His room is small, with one double bed Klaus thinks a hooker might have died on, and it's fitting enough for him to crack open his newly-bought alcohol and let some music play from his phone speakers. He draws the curtains leaves the bedside lamps on, and he leans back on the bed and pulls out Vanya's book. He opens it to his last page and continues to read. 

It mostly recounts her own experiences with the family and the academy, though there are informative snippets of the rest of them as well that Klaus tries to remember. The book only strengthens Klaus' suspicions that Reginald is, all in all, a prick. He didn't actually have a hand in raising the kids as people, leaving that to a robot he created instead, and he only seemed to focus on honing their powers. It all had different effects on each kid and their relationship with the rest of their family, and Klaus is almost hesitant to actually show up tomorrow. Does he really want to get involved in this? For the first time since meeting him, Klaus wants Reginald to materialise himself once more so he can figure out his part in this. He's to show and tell someone named Pogo - Vanya's book described him as basically the academy's butler, which was fine, but he was also apparently a monkey. Klaus isn't sure how he feels about that. But after introducing himself to this Pogo, then what? Show up and be all,  _Hey, I know your dad is dead and you have no idea who I am, but I too have powers and your dead father showed up in my bedroom in Germany and told me to come here, so I did. Klaus Schmidtt, at your service._ No, he's not going to say something stupid like that. Instead he's probably going to show up drunk, introduce himself and say something even _worse_ than that.

Klaus throws the book aside and slumps against the bed headboard. He stays up for a little longer, hoping Reginald makes a reappearance, but he's tired from travelling and with a belly full of alcohol, and so he slumps onto his side and curls up on the undoubtedly dirty bedsheets, and when Reginald does appear again, he's already asleep. 

 

 

Klaus wakes up to pain in his stomach and screaming in his ears. 

He gasps and doubles over, hands flying to his stomach. There's a large, deep gash on his stomach, gushing cold blood, and the screaming hasn't stopped. When he looks up there's a woman,slender and blonde, her eyes wide and crying, and she has a matching gash on her stomach. She's slightly transparent and when she notices Klaus staring at her, she stumbles forwards, dragging blood everywhere. Her blood stained hands reach out and she grabs Klaus, actually _grabs_ him, and spit flies out of her mouth as she sobs hysterically. Klaus can see her death burned into the backs of his eye lids, watches as a man takes her to this motel, to this room, and just as they start to do anything, he pulls a knife out and guts her. He can feel the knife slide into his own stomach and tear his flesh apart, and the woman _keeps on screaming_ and grabbing at him, staining his arms, his hair, his face with her blood. Klaus screws his eyes shut, choosing to watch from her own eyes as she dies rather than meet her dead eyes, and he yells out  _"go away!"_

He doesn't notice when she actually does, when he's no longer in pain, and he buries his face into his arms and bites down on his lip to quieten himself. 

 

 

 

It's late morning and Klaus hauls himself out of the bed eventually and makes his way to the bathroom, running the hot water and stepping into the shower after kicking his clothes aside. He scrubs his skin pink and he thinks the shower might end up overflowing, so eventually, he turns the water off and staggers out, half heartedly drying his body off before wrapping the towel around his hips and going back into the main room. Reginald is sitting in one of the seats to the side and Klaus walks past him, heading to grab some clothes from his bag. 

"You need to focus," Reginald says. "You let your panic control you in the moment." If Klaus didn't already know him better he would say Reginald almost sounded like a supportive father, trying to encourage Klaus to better himself.

Klaus snorts, pulling a tank top over his head. "Yeah, well, sorry. It felt like I was being murdered so yes, I panicked."

Reginald gives him a disapproving look at his bitter sarcasm. "You'll get nowhere if you're afraid of your own powers," he tells him, and Klaus shrugs.

"Got pretty far so far," he counters.

"I know you can't control them," Reginald speaks up. "So you know how to do _some_ things. Most of the time you hope for the best. One day, only the worst will come from that." 

Klaus purses his lips. He spots his bottle of peach schnapps and he bends down to reach it, swirls the liquid around in it and then takes a healthy swig of it. 

"I'll deal with that when it happens, then," he shrugs. He hears Reginald sigh and Klaus continues to pull his clothes on and then his boots. 

"Are you going to tell me what I need to do?" He asks. He sits down on the edge of the bed, holding his peach schnapps with both hands, fingers drumming along the side. Reginald raises a light eyebrow at him.

"Oh, come on," Klaus groans, "are you seriously not going to tell me what the fuck is going on? You can't expect me to just show up and go with the flow; for all I know you're leading me to your group of murderer friends and you're gonna kidnap and torture me for all eternity. Spill the tea, come on," he whines, and Reginald glances to the side.

"Something is going to happen," he says, "and you need to come together to help prevent something bigger than all of us."

Klaus runs a hand down his face and decides he's definitely showing up drunk.

"But what does that _mean_!?" He cries out, shaking his head. He eyes his drink in his hands and takes multiple long swigs of it, gripping the bottle's neck tightly. 

Reginald stares at Klaus for a few long moments, and then he lets out a sigh and begins walking towards the door. "They'll know," he tells Klaus, and then he continues on his way out. He disappears from Klaus' sight and doesn't reappear, and Klaus slumps in defeat.

He takes his time getting ready and checking out of the motel, making sure he's definitely buzzed and tipsy before he finds the bus that'll take him within walking distance of the Umbrella Academy. 

He slides into the dusty bus seat and tries to ignore the man with broken bones groaning in the seats a couple of rows behind him, mangled up from a car accident. The bus ride is still long, taking him all the way out and to wherever this cursed academy is. At some point someone sits next to him once the bus becomes a bit more full, and Klaus briefly glances up at them. A young woman reading something, and she offers Klaus a friendly smile before returning to her book. 

He's still shaky from the incident earlier, fingers trembling as he presses the stop button and pulls himself to his feet, staggering off the bus.

The street is large, full of towering, gated buildings and cars lined up beside the pavements, and Klaus lets his eyes roam over each building until he finds the one that matches the pictures online.

Klaus takes a deep breath in and looks around. Reginald is nowhere to be seen. Klaus grips the straps of his bag and slips through the slightly ajar gates and raises his fist, knuckles thumping against the front door first before he finds the door bell.

There's a couple of extended minutes where Klaus simply waits outside, but eventually the doors open up. Klaus expects the monkey-butler from earlier to be there, so when a man towering over himself answers the door, Klaus slowly brings his gaze up to meet the man, startled.

"Can I help you?" The man asks gruffly. He looks tense and uncomfortable, as if he just had a fight or argument, and Klaus awkwardly rocks on his heels.

"Ah... Klaus Schmidtt," he introduces, sticking out a tattooed hand. "Is Pogo around?" He asks, peering past him. He can see someone walking over, a cane tap, tap, tapping, and though Klaus has to do a double take he's almost relieved to see a monkey in a suit.

"Who are you?" The man questions, eyes narrowed. 

"I'll take this, Master Luther," the man, monkey, Pogo says, and the man, Luther - Number One - hesitates but steps aside.

"Do we know him?" He asks. "We're kind of busy, don't you think, Pogo?" He asks. Pogo waves a hand at him, tipping his head.

"I know him. I've been expecting his arrival these past few days. Please, Master Schmidtt, come in," Pogo says, and Klaus throws a final glance over his shoulder, but he follows them in. Luther closes the door behind them with a large thud and Klaus thinks he's made a colossal mistake. Oh well. He's here now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Klaus has arrived at the academy! Reginald's being an ominous prick, as always, and Klaus no clue what he's really getting himself into. Lets hope for the best for our boy.  
> If you enjoyed, feel free to leave a comment or a kudos; I appreciate it all!


	4. Four: filled this void with things unreal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, and sorry for the shorter chapter. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!

The academy is magnificent. A chandelier hangs from each tall ceiling and glistens, pristine and polished, and Klaus has only seem similar architecture in old churches back in Germany or in large museums and art galleries. It's crazy to think that children grew up here, and then he thinks back to Vanya's book and he realises that children didn't grow up, here. Students were trained here, and that fits it more.

  
Luther follows behind him as he follows behind Pogo. Klaus doesn't comment on it but he really just wants to talk to Pogo first, considering Pogo is the only common ground he has at the moment.  
They go up a set of large stairs the makes Klaus' fuzzy mind dizzy and he's happy to get onto flat ground once more. They reach a set of large, dark doors and finally, Pogo turns around.

  
" Master Luther, if you wouldn't mind Master Schmidtt and I have some things to discuss. In private," he says, hands clasped over the head of his cane, and Klaus presses his lips together and offers a sheepish smile to the mountain of a man. Luther hesitates as if he's not used to being the first to know things but he eventually nods.

  
"If you need anything I'll be around," he says, and Klaus suspects it's more of a warning to him. _Rude_ , he thinks, because he doesn't even know Klaus and does he really look like a threat? In old mascara and eyeliner, heeled boots and a pink tank top? 

 

  
"Thank you," Pogo says, and then he nudges open the doors and gestures for Klaus to go in, which he does. He feels awkward and he's unbelievably glad that he's not sober. The doors close behind Pogo and at his gesture, Klaus slides into one of the leather seats beside a large oak desk. It looks like they're in some office or study, large shelves full of books and folders and trinkets. He feels like he's just stepped right into a Victorian-era mansion.

  
"So it seems you got the... message," Pogo begins, and Klaus snorts softly, tipping his head.

  
"If by message you mean the ghost of an eccentric billionaire showing up in my bedroom, then yes. Yes, I did," Klaus confirms. Pogo doesn't find it funny and Klaus shifts slightly, clearing his throat and looking at his feet.

  
"Is he around?" Pogo asks, and Klaus gives a little glance around the room despite knowing that Reginald would have made his appearance known by now. He shakes his head.  
"No. He hasn't been around much since this morning. I can't, uh, sense him nearby either," Klaus tells him, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry to disappoint."  
Pogo shakes his head dismissively, waving off his apology. 

"Has he told you why your presence has been requested here?" He then asks, and Klaus almost snorts. Holy hell he wishes he had told him.

  
"He's told me something's going to happen and that I've been involved since I was born, which is... wild. He's not actually said what is going to happen," he tells him, shrugging once more. His fingers drum across his thigh. "You've been expecting me?" He repeats what he said from earlier, and Pogo sighs.

"After Master Hargreeves death, yes," he admits with a sigh. "Master Hargreeves kept some tabs on some of the children born in the same way you were, even if he was unable to adopt you. Some of them, you included, discovered your powers by yourself and continued to use them. Those of you, he kept tabs on. With your connection to the dead and Master Hargreeves sudden death, I believed it was only a matter of time before he contacted you. Whether you came here or not was up to you, but we did expect it," he tells him, and Klaus takes a moment to process the information before nodding.

  
"Well, here I am," he says, spreading his hands out by his side. "What next? All I know is that I was to go to you," he says. He leans forwards, elbows on his knees, and lets out a breath. This whole ominous thing isn't boding well with him and he just wants some answers, really.

  
Pogo rises to his feet. "I believe I should introduce you to the others," he says, "everyone else is here already. You came just in time to miss some sibling rivalry." Klaus smiles because he thinks that's the closest Pogo will get to a joke, and he rises easily to his feet.

  
"After you, then," he grins, and then, "wait, actually. Do you mind if I take my shoes off? I know it sounds crazy but, believe me or not, the damn things are like an off switch on my powers. I'm out of the game with them on," he tells him, offering a grin. It was a long story, really, of when he found that out, and he still isn't sure how it really works but hey, he isn't about to start questioning things.

  
"Do whatever you want, Master Schmidtt," Pogo tells him. Klaus utters a thank you and takes his boots off, carrying them out with them. They begin the walk down the now-empty corridor and Klaus feels a set of eyes on him, and when he glances to the side he sees nothing. He shrugs it off and follows Pogo back downstairs. He lingers a few feet behind Pogo, eying the decorations and architecture. Down one hallway he sees child cartoons of combat moves and it disturbs him.

  
In the living room there's two people. Klaus instantly recognises one of them - he'd spent so much time with that damn book in his hands he'd be damned if he didn't recognise the author - and it takes him another moment to recognise the other woman.

  
"Pogo, hey. Who's this?" The curly-haired woman, Number Three, Allison, asks, and they walk over to the seats.

  
"Allison, Vanya," Pogo greets, inclining his head to each of them. "This is Klaus Schmidtt. His presence has been expected these past few days. He shall be staying with us. Would you fetch Diego and Luther for me?" He requests, and Allison slides off her seat slowly.

  
"Sure, sure," she says. Her eyes flick up and down Klaus briefly but she offers him a polite smile nonetheless before ducking out the room. Silence follows and Klaus awkwardly shuffles, offers Vanya a smile and remembers the harsh things she wrote in her book, and then he takes a seat on one of the couches and sets his shoes aside. He notices there's a bar and he tells himself it would be rude to go to it already.

  
It only takes a couple of minutes before Allison arrives with Diego and Luther following behind her. Diego looks like he couldn't be less bothered and Luther looks like he had earlier; putting up a tough face. They all settle down.

  
"So," the man Klaus suspects to be Diego says, "who's this chump? I thought we were having a serious day today." He points a sharp blade in Klaus' direction and Klaus' eyes bounce between all of the siblings. He feels inexplicably intimidated by them all, so he sits up a little, forces his tense shoulders down.

  
"This," Pogo says, "is Klaus Schmidtt. He came from Germany at your father's request. For the following couple of weeks he will be staying with us." Klaus gives a little wave and a smile.

  
"Cool," Diego says and stands up. Luther grabs his shoulder before he can reach the door.

  
"What do you mean by dads request?" Luther asks, eyes narrowed. Klaus glances around but there's still no sign of the old man around.

  
"Klaus was born on the same day as you all. Master Hargreeves was unable to adopt him like he was with you -"

  
"Lucky bastard," Diego mutters.

  
" - but Master Hargreeves had... kept some tabs on Master Schmidtt. He is here to help clear some things up after his death."

The siblings exchange curious looks, and Luther presses on, turning to Klaus now.

  
"So you also have a power?" He asks, and Klaus flashes a smile and nods his head.

  
"I do," he confirms.

  
"Well?" Diego presses. "Don't leave us hanging."

  
Klaus gives a little snort and runs a hand through his hair. "I, uh, I speak to the dead. Conjure them, move them on, that kind of stuff. Possession, both ways. A little bit of telekinesis, but no one seems interested in that," he tells them, fingers twitching.

  
"This is hilarious," Diego snorts.

  
"Prove it." That's Luther again, looking unsettled and full of questions. Klaus spreads his hands out.

  
"Find me a ghost, then," he says, a little too bitter than he intended. "I don't see any here."

  
"I thought dad spoke to you," he raises an eyebrow as if just finding out some flaw in Klaus' master plan, and he snorts.

  
"Reginald did," he confirms. "Showed up in my bedroom and called me pathetic and disgusting and told me to come here. Called me pathetic a couple more times. Disappeared this morning and I haven't seen him since - and before you say it, no, I can't conjure him. He's cut all contact with me. I can't even sense him right now," he states.

  
"That does sound like the old man," Diego comments, eyebrows raised and giving Luther a pointed look.

  
Luther presses his lips together and glances down. "But why would he need someone else here?" He mutters to himself. "I told you all that dads death wasn't normal. If he's sought someone else out then obviously we've to figure out why," he says, and he steps closer to Klaus. "What did he tell you?"

  
Klaus throws his hands up. "Literally nothing!" He exclaims. "Nothing about how he died, why I had to come here - all I know is something is about to happen and now I'm a part of this mess. He didn't seem overly concerned about being dead, if that's any consolation," he offers, and Luther turns and takes a few steps aside. He runs a hand down his face thoughtfully.

"Prove it," he insists, and Klaus closes his eyes.

  
"What do you want?" Klaus asks, shaking his head. "I - _sie wassen was das Arschloch, fein_."

  
He sits up and closes his eyes, forces his hands to relax and forces his body to relax, too, to let the tension drip out of his muscles. He's certainly not in the right state of mind to do this but god damnit, if they want a ghost Klaus is going to give them a ghost. Klaus reaches out to the part of him that isn't quite alive and he falls back. He hears the siblings talking together, or maybe to him, but it's muffled like he's underwater and he turns away from them and to reaching skeletal hands. These ones aren't calm. They're not lost little souls that died too young. They're angry and desperate and violent and he hears gunshots, feels blood splatter across his face as a man kills his children and then his wife and then himself. He feels hands hold his head underwater, feels hands push him down a flight of stairs that crack his skull open, feels hands go around his throat and they drag him down, down, down.

  
Klaus grabs one of them and pulls it forwards, and he jerks back into reality, hitting the floor with a thud. There's a gasp and he looks to his side and there's a man beside him. The back of his head is blown out. No one else is looking at him, however, so he knows he hasn't physically manifested him.

  
"Are you okay?" It's Vanya that asks him this and he simply nods his head, using the seat to haul himself up. The man turns to him, blood dripping down his back and pooling at his feet, and there's insanity in his eyes. He staggers forwards and grips Klaus' arms, and Klaus reaches out to grip him. His skin ripples dark blue and solidifies, spreading out until he's fully corporeal, and Klaus ignores his yelling to reach forwards and cup his bloody face. He screams bloody curses at him, repeats names of his dead children and wife, and reaches for Klaus' throat. Klaus' hands pull the ghost closer and his eyes flame the same blue as his hands. The words he speaks don't hold any weight on his tongue as he banishes the ghost, words tumbling past his lips and disappearing in the winds of that cold, dark place that Klaus is always half-in.

When he looks around once more, Klaus is greeted with the sight of shocked faces; wide eyes and mouths agape. 

Klaus raises a brow. "There," he says, simple, and folds his arms across his chest to hide the way they shake. "Now, can we get on with this? I still have no clue what's going on," he states, because god, is it too much to be told what's going on?

They try and compose themselves quickly though they're obviously still trying to process what they just witnessed, and a part of Klaus thinks  _good. Let them know I'm serious._

"Dad only died a few days ago," Luther says, quickly shifting from the topic, "how come he was trying to reach Klaus, who can apparently see the dead, before his death? I'm telling you, there's obviously more to it." It seems like Klaus just missed this whole conversation of Luther insisting Reginald didn't die by any natural means. Part of him is glad.

"How many times do we need to tell you, dad was a sad old man who finally kicked the bucket, Luther," Diego insists, his voice tight and frustrated. He shakes his head. Luther glares at him and Klaus really thinks that he's made a huge mistake coming here. He still needs to phone his mother and let her know he's made it here safely. "And dad's full of mysteries; he's probably been trying to drag Klaus here into the academy since he found him," he shrugs, raises an eyebrow at Klaus.

"I've been told that he tried to buy me when I was born," he confirms. Diego points at him as if he just proved his point.

"It's not a big mystery, Luther. Let it go."

Everyone seems to start disbanding; Diego walks out first, followed by Vanya. Allison lingers by Luther's side and Klaus awkwardly sits there before standing up.

"Klaus." His voice is less hostile than when he spoke to Diego, but still firm. Klaus turns around, almost stumbling, and raises his eyebrows.

"Has - has dad spoken to you?" Luther asks him.

Klaus presses his lips together. "A bit," he nods. "He's not been around today, though."

Luther stares at him, silent, for a moment longer. And then he nods, seemingly dismissive, and Klaus shrugs and turns back around. He glances at a tired looking Pogo.

"Can I just, like, look around or something?" He asks, and Pogo tips his head. Klaus flashes him a grin and hurries out of the living room, arms held tight to his side, clutching his bag. He makes his way outside eventually, after some wandering through confusing, winding hallways. There's a small garden, courtyard type thing outside the kitchen and Klaus slumps onto one of the benches outside. He takes the opportunity to pull a cigarette and a lighter out, perching it between his lips and shielding it from the beginning drops of rain as he lights it. It scratches it way down his throat, settling soothingly into his lungs before he lets it tumble back past his lips in a cloud.

He's really beginning to think this is all a mistake. Reginald hasn't shown his face once more - and it's _his_ family they're seeing! - and he's tired from the summoning he shouldn't have done earlier. He's unsettled the ghosts now and he can hear their whispers breaking through the fragile barrier he can put up. Klaus runs a hand down his face with a heavy sigh. Reaching into his pocket he pulls his phone out. He has no idea what time it is in Germany right now - he should probably check it - and he scrolls through his contacts until coming to his mother's. He calls her and holds it up to his ear as it rings and rings and rings. Then,

"Klaus? I've been waiting for you to phone! I've been worried," she scolds fondly, and Klaus smiles a little at that.

"Sorry, mama," he says, "you wouldn't believe the adventure I've already had. I mean, I didn't realise that after one lands at an airport they have to actually find their way to a motel or something! It's absurd! And then I had to actually get to the damn academy, and ma - maybe you should have sold me, it's fu - fricking huge! Like, _hello_ old Rome architecture, or something. I've never been to Rome, I wouldn't know." 

"Take a breath,  _kleiner._ Are you doing alright though?" She asks, and Klaus nods.

"Yeah, I am. Though I think this was a bad idea, ma. They're crazy and they think I am - I had to conjure a ghost to prove I wasn't crazy or whatever."

"They aren't from Dresden, Klaus. They don't know about you. Are they being nice?" She asks, as if she'll request to talk to them if he says no.

"Yeah, they are," Klaus chuckles lightly. "Don't worry about me. I dunno how long I'll be here for, though. I just met the academy, so who knows. Hopefully only a few more days. I promise I'll buy you and Frida something nice, _ja_?"

"Leaving so soon?" Jokes his mother, and Klaus feels guilty before she dismisses him. "I'm tired anyway, Klaus. I'll send you a text message in the morning. Stay safe, please, Klaus. I love you."

Klaus thinks there's more meaning to her request for his safety, and the way his head still spins from his vodka makes him feel a little guilty. 

"Of course," he chooses to respond with instead. "Love you too, mama. I'll speak to you later."

He hangs up, then, stuffing his phone into his pocket and finishing off his cigarette. He stamps it out under the toe of his boot and stands up, hands on his back as he stretches. He turns to go back inside when he notices someone staring at him warily, as if trying to decide what to make of him. The guy wasn't in the 'meeting' or whatever earlier, and he hadn't noticed him since. He's wearing a leather jacket and a hoodie that casts shadows across his face, and his arms are folded across his chest. His eyes are dark, solemn and protective, and there's traces of blood splattered across his cheek.

They stare at each other for a few seconds, long enough to make the guy glance over his shoulder, thinking Klaus is looking elsewhere.

"Uh, sorry," Klaus says awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "I didn't see you there. Name's Klaus," he introduces, taking a few steps closer. The man bristles, looks a mix between defensive, scared and shocked. He takes a step back when Klaus steps forwards, as if threatened, though he hurries to pick up the cold expression he'd dropped.

He speaks, and his voice is hoarse as if it's not been used in years, or he had used it too much. " _You can see me?"_ He asks.

_Oh._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you did enjoy this part, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment; I appreciate all of it!  
> Thank you!


	5. consume everything then consume yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regrettably an extremely short chapter, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Klaus quickly realises that this is number four, from Vanya's book. The dead one. He had died alone on a mission, but the funeral had been horrific, apparently. Though the man in front of him doesn't look as bad as his death had sounded, if Klaus focuses a little too much then he can see flashes of broken bones, he can smell copper, hear a ragged scream. He pushes it aside, focusing instead on the man. If he had died in such a horrible way, it doesn't show. That piques his interest, because he's never seen a ghost that's been able to leave their fatal injuries behind and look normal. 

"You must be number four," he says, then, "sorry, sorry. My name's Klaus," he introduces, and sticks out a hand as if the guy will be able to shake his hand. Maybe he will; it's always a flip of the coin whether or not ghosts can physically touch him. 

"You can see me," the ghost repeats, less of a question and more a statement now.

"Yeah," answers Klaus, bobbing his head in a nod. "I can. That's my thing; I see the dead."

He eyes Klaus' hand. "Can I... Can I touch you?" 

Klaus glances down at his still out-stretched hand. He shrugs. "Sometimes," he said, "you can try." 

He does. He takes a few tentative steps forwards, much resembling a cat reaching out to sniff his hand, and then he slips his hand into Klaus' with a shocked expression. Klaus can't remember what year he died in, but Klaus suspects it's been a while. Honestly, he's impressed. The last ghost he'd seen that had been clinging to life for a prolonged period of time had been something straight from a horror movie, all bloody limbs, gnashing teeth and cursed screaming. 

Ben stares at their hands like a normal person would stare at a ghost. He looks like he isn't sure whether to drop his hand and run away or to cling on. 

"Who are you?" He asks then, looking up at Klaus with shocked, deer-in-headlights eyes. Klaus flashes a smile at him. 

"I'm Klaus," he simply responds. "From Germany, here at request of your deceased father. At your service," he says, and when Ben finally drops his hand as if it suddenly burned him, Klaus offers a mock-bow. Then he steels himself, grimacing.

"I'm, uh... sorry for your passing," he offers, scratching the back of his head.

Number four - Ben, he thinks his name is - looks stressed. He's staring at his own hands and at Klaus, as if expecting him to disappear on the spot.

"Why are you here?" He asks. It's not hostile, necessarily. More wary and unsure, protective of his siblings, his eyes flicking back to the house.

Klaus runs his hands through his hair, a small sigh leaving his lips.

"I wish someone would tell me that," he utters with the shake of his head. "Your dad told me to come here, and like a fool, here I am." 

Ben runs his hands down his face, looking away. Klaus doesn't blame his evident shock, and he turns around so he's not staring at him.

"I can send ghosts on, you know," Klaus says, voice softer. He knows to approach the topic softly, slowly. "Like, to find peace. You don't have to stick around here."

Ben looks at him. There's hope in his eyes but he also looks like Klaus just slapped him. "What?"

Klaus leans forwards, pressing his lips together and clasping his hands together under his chin. "I can send ghosts on. You can let go of all this, find peace. It's dangerous to cling on here for ghosts, and it looks like you've already been around for some time," he explains, raising his eyebrows. He holds out an open hand invitingly and Ben stares at the 'GOODBYE' tattooed across his palm.

Ben shakes his head, vehemently dismissing that idea. 

"No," he says, "no, I can't. I need to watch my family." 

Klaus tips his head to the side, glancing back to the building. He supposes things with this family are different, so he nods. 

"Are you sure?" He asks, and Ben stares at him.

"Yes," he says, "I'm not leaving my family."

Klaus tips his head in acknowledgement. "Fair enough," he responds. There's a few moments of tense silence where they simply regard the other. Then, Ben speaks up once more.

"How long are you here for?" He asks. Klaus' eyes flick back to the ghost, and he knows he's simply trying to make conversation. Klaus would be too if he had died and been invisible to everyone for years until someone shows up, finally able to see and speak to you. Klaus stretches his arms out above his head and he sits back down on the bench outside, stretching his legs out.

"No idea," he admits. Ben follows him after a moment of hesitation, sitting on the bench next to him. "I thought I'd only be here a couple of days or something, but then Pogo said a couple of weeks, so… who knows. I only brought enough clothes for, like, one week," he sighs, staring at the bag in front of him. He hadn't known where to put it so he had simply stuck to carrying it around with himself so far. Plus, something told him that no one would really be too happy for him if they saw his bottle of peach schnapps and whiskey (he'd ended up pouring them into one bottle together once he'd drank enough to save space. It tasted like literal hell, but Klaus wasn't fussy.)

"You fit seven outfits in that bag?" Ben queries, and Klaus flashes him a grin.

"Oh yeah, baby," nods Klaus, tapping it with the toe of his shoe. "I love the oversized, baggy trend thing, but most of my clothes are... small, you could say."

Ben laughs at that, a soft, hesitant sound, and Klaus smiles at him. 

"So," Ben says after a few moments, "you speak to ghosts?"

Klaus grunts. "Unfortunately," he responds, though hurries to correct himself at Ben's hurt expression. "Not like that! I didn't mean that because of you! But surely you've seen some of the other ghosts, if you get what I'm saying. Most of them aren't as," he vaguely waves his hand, "nice or peaceful."

Ben's face turns solemn and he nods. "Yeah, I get it," he says. "I've seen them. They're not... pretty," he settles on, and Klaus huffs a laugh. His hand fishes for another cigarette and he lights it after a few tries.

"You can say that again," mumbles Klaus around his cigarette. 

"You know smoking kills," Ben comments, eyebrows raised as he watches Klaus take a long drag of it. He takes it from his mouth between his pointer and middle finger, letting a cloud fall out of his lips.

"God, I hope so," he snorts, staring at the cigarette's smouldering tip before bringing it back to his lips in a mock kiss.

Ben stares at him, not finding his comment funny, and Klaus guesses he should probably refrain from death jokes when hanging out with seemingly the only ghost willing to talk to him.

"How come you can touch me?" Asks Ben, moving on from the topic. Klaus tips his head to the side.

"I think that's just part of my powers," he shrugs, "I'm not sure. I can't really control it so it's pretty much just a roll of a dice. It's not like any ghost has wanted to help me practice that part," he snorts. 

Ben bobs his head in an understanding nod. "Fair enough, I guess," he responds, staring at his hands curiously. Klaus reaches out, offering an open palm, and Ben stares at it for a moment before putting his hand into. Klaus can almost see him shiver from, what, his second feeling of physical contact in decade or so? 

"Can the others see me like that?" He asks, and Klaus watches Ben's form ripple in blue waves every time a drop of rain goes through him. 

"Not just from me touching you," answers Klaus. "You can see you're still a bit blue. I _can_ make you corporeal though, if you want me to. I can't really hold it up for long, but I can do it."

Ben stares at him. "The others could see me then?" He asks, and Klaus offers him a smile.

"They could," he confirms. Something flickers in Ben's eyes and he turns away, then, looking elsewhere. He doesn't drop Klaus' hand. 

A few minutes pass until Klaus hears a door open. "Klaus, is it? Feel up to joining a funeral?" Diego calls from the door, and Klaus turns to raise an eyebrow at him. He shares a glance with Ben before shrugging.

"Why not?"

Ben lets go of his hand and they both stand. Ben's eyes flick between the two of them and Klaus is about to say something before Diego dips inside.

"Do you want me to... y'know, manifest you for them?" He asks, voice quieter. He slings his bag over his shoulder and slowly returns to the house.

"Not now," responds Ben, "I... not at the funeral," he says, and Klaus lets out a little 'ah' and nods.

"Fair enough," he agrees, and then they're going inside. Everyone's in the kitchen and the big guy, Luther, is holding an urn. Pogo's there, standing beside a woman that looks like she's straight out of a 1950's housewife magazine, vibrant red lips in a permanent smile.

"Hello Klaus," she greets when she sees him, and Klaus staggers for a moment.

"Uh... hey," he says, offering a small wave.

"I say we have it outside, near that oak tree dad used to like," Luther said, interrupting, and Klaus presses his lips together. And then, "have you been smoking?"

Klaus raises his eyebrows. "Outside," he assures him. Luther doesn't say anything though makes sure his dislike is evident on his face. Klaus feels slightly irritated by that, bristling before forcing himself calm. 

"Looks like you're on his bad side already," Ben comments from beside him, and Klaus snorts. Upon receiving a questioning look Klaus just shrugs.

"Ghost," he explains.

"Lets just get this over with," Diego says, shifting uncomfortably and heading to the door. He peers out the window. "We'll need some umbrellas," he adds, and he takes the opportunity to dip out of the room to grab an umbrella for them all. He gives Klaus an awkward, apologetic glance. 

"Sorry, we don't have any more," he says, and Klaus waves a hand. 

"No worries. I might have one," he muses, and he bends down to pull open his bag, hand raking around between his clothes and alcohol and cigarettes. But there, right at the bottom, is one of those small, child umbrella that you can fold up. "Aha! See," he said, pulling it out. Diego snorted at the clear plastic and pink rim, but Klaus thought it was cute.

With everyone kitted out in dark clothes (minus Klaus), they headed outside. The rain had only begun to pick up, getting heavier, and Klaus was glad for his umbrella. They create a small circle, Klaus leaving space for Ben beside him. 

"Can you see Reginald too, then?" He asks him as Luther rambles on about something Klaus isn't paying attention too. He nods his head, humming quietly. "Is he around?" He asks then, and Klaus lets his eyes close, tries to feel that same energy Reginald gave off. He doesn't feel anything, so he shakes his head.

The funeral is, by far, the most awkward thing he's attended. They argue and Luther tries to defend their father. The ashes fall in a pathetic heap and Klaus grimaces the entire way through. Diego and Luther fight, causing them to break Ben's old statue.

"Never liked that thing anyway," Ben had muttered, standing by his own decapitated head. "Doesn't look like me." 

Klaus tried not to laugh.

"Summon him, or whatever it is you do," Luther suddenly demands, turning on Klaus. 

"Sorry, what?" Klaus asks, blinking in surprise.

"You can speak to the dead. Bring him here like you did earlier."

Klaus waves his hands in defence.

"I'm sorry, man," he says, "but he's not around at the moment. Like, he's completely cut off contact with me. I can't get him if I wanted to," he shrugged, but Luther took a menacing step forwards and Klaus took one back.

He opened his mouth to continue speaking but there was a crackle of thunder and Klaus watched as the air turned static and burst into blue lightning. Everyone turned to watch it, taking several steps back and Luther went from looking ready to put Klaus into a choke hold to herding him behind him with the rest of his siblings. Aside from Diego, who tried to do the same.

The whatever it was in the sky expanded, growing more violent until Klaus thought he could see a scene on the other side. Then, quick as a flash, something - some _one_ \- tumbled out of it and it vanished with a crack. On the floor a few paces from the group was a... kid?

"Does... does anyone else see a little boy?" Klaus asks, eyebrows knitting together. Slowly, the boy began to writhe, not as unconscious or dead as he had looked, and he sat up. According to everyone else's expressions, this wasn't a ghost.

"Five?" Vanya says, and it takes Klaus a moment to remember who it is simply from her book. 

 

 

They head inside after that. Five, despite being hindered by a way too-big suit and just falling out of the sky, takes long strides into the kitchen and he flashes around the kitchen as he makes himself some food, demanding to know the date - the exact date. It's only when he stops, finally done with making his sandwich that Klaus would call horrific but also make at three AM, drunk, does he look over them. His eyes settle on Klaus, hanging off to the side. 

"Who are you?" He asks, and there's suspicion in his eyes. 

Klaus flashes him a smile. "Klaus Schmidtt," he greets. "At your service, or whatever."

Five looks him up and down before raising an eyebrow at his siblings.

"He came earlier today," Luther says and then, slightly bitterly, "at dad's request. He's born like us. Can see the dead, but not dad, apparently."

Klaus lets out a small, frustrated breath. "I've seen Reginald but he's not showing up just now." 

Luther meets his gaze steadily and any other time Klaus would back down, but he's fired up now from all the jet lag, alcohol, and dealing with Reginald earlier, and so he holds his gaze. Eventually, Luther looks away. 

"Dad's request, hmm?" Five muses curiously before shrugging. "Whatever. There's more pressing matters I need to attend to," Five says dismissively, and he takes a bite into his sandwich before bringing it with him on his departure to the door. Everyone's left staring after him with curious eyes, Klaus included, and then Vanya follows him, then Diego, then Allison and Luther, leaving Klaus and Ben standing in the kitchen.

"Well," says Klaus, reaching into his bag. "I need a drink."

 

 

 


	6. obey, oh can you obey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Bottle in hand, Klaus heads up to the room he's been given to stay in (there's plenty of bedrooms in this massive house, though his is in the same corridor as the rest of the sibling's) and he debates pushing the drawers in front of the door to give himself some privacy (none of the bedroom doors have locks) especially considering the speed with which he's burning through his alcohol. Eventually, he doesn't, simply because that's unnecessary. He slumps onto the bed in the room, kicking his bare feet up onto it and watching the rain outside the window. Ben seemed content to follow Klaus about, and although it unsettled Klaus he doesn't say anything because Ben really does seem nice enough and he's not yelling at him or whatever, like many of the other ghosts did.

"You drink a lot," the ghost comments. He's sitting on the chest of drawers, legs dangling over the edge, and Klaus raises an eyebrow at him. 

"I'm a party animal," Klaus grins, "I have a free pass to do so."

Ben snorts at that. "Tell me about yourself," he requests then, and that grabs Klaus' interest.

"What?"

"I don't really know you other than the fact that you're from Germany, see the dead, and your name is Klaus. What do you do at home? Got a family? A girlfriend? Boyfriend? Children?"

Klaus tips his head back, laughing at that. "Alright, alright." He heaves himself up to sit against the bed's headboard, taking another sip of hell's drink that he came up with, waits for his mouth to stop burning with each breath. "I've got a little sister - she's studying psychology - and she's a bitch. No, no, that's rude, I shouldn't say that, she's actually lovely. Her name's Frida. Good ol' daddy left shortly after she was born, who knows what's up with him now. My ma's an angel - she knows about my whole ghosty thing - and she helped me out with it once we made sure I wasn't actually schizophrenic, which is lovely. I, uh, actually have a little business, y'know. Let people see their loved ones, whatever, move others on. It's slow but what can ya' do. Single as a pringle, and pretty sure it's probably illegal for me to be a father. It _should_ be, anyway." 

Ben listens with vague amusement and interest, propping his chin up on his hand. He seems content enough just to talk, even if he's obviously restraining himself from rambling on when he does speak. When Klaus keeps drinking and his words get more slurred, Ben speaks more. It's almost relaxing, reminding him of when he was younger and his mother would read him back to sleep when he woke up after a nightmare. 

"Maybe you should stop drinking now, Klaus," Ben advises once, watching as Klaus held himself up on the wall while raiding his own bag. He was picking out his clothes, giving him a run down on each crop top, cardigan, robe, and trousers. 

"This one," says Klaus, blatantly ignoring Ben, pinching a silky, pink robe between his fingers, "I got it in some vintage shop, and it's, y'know, very old Hollywood glam, I just _had_ to have it!" He pulls it on. It's possibly one of his favourite items of clothing that he doesn't wear as much as he should. It's light pink and sheer, and though it's slim around his torso it flows out around his legs, and the sleeves do, too. The trim around the bottom and at the sleeves are fluffy and a brighter pink, and there's a small ribbon hidden further in his bag to keep it closed and tied together, though Klaus prefers wearing it open. If it wasn't reaching the floor, he'd wear it outside more often, too, but he doesn't want it getting dirty by dragging on the floor. 

"Are _all_ your clothes like this?" Ben questions, leaning forwards on his knees. He's opening up more, getting more comfortable around Klaus. Sometimes he gets on edge and he'll excuse himself to go visit his siblings, checking they're alright, and then he'll come back so he can talk more to Klaus.

"Not _all_ of them - that would be an absurd amount of feathers! Just... a few of them," he grins, peering into the bundle of clothes in his bag. "Do you think I should, like, empty my clothes into the drawers? Or just keep them in my bag? Because, no offense, I think your brother - the big one, the one on those, uh, muscle medicine things -"

"Steroids?"

"Yeah! Them! Yeah, he, uh, he seems like he's ready to kick me out at the soonest possibility. So I should probably keep them with me, right?"

"I don't think he'd do _that_ ," Ben says. "I mean, you could do that, if you want."

"You're right. It's too much effort."

"I never said that."

"That's how I interpreted it."

Klaus reaches out for his bottle. He can still form coherent sentences, even if he thinks that's a damn miracle, so he decides a little more never hurt anybody. If he figures out how to open the window, he can have a cigarette too.

Klaus decides that it's a great idea, and he staggers to the window, hands fumbling over the window frame.

"There's a latch at the bottom," Ben says, wandering up to his side and pointing at the small bit on it. 

"I knew that," Klaus says, reaching out and shoving the window open after using the latch to open it first. With that open, letting in the cool breeze, Klaus leans back against the window frame and fumbles for his lighter a bit until his cigarette catches it, and he inhales deeply. 

"I've been rambling for the entire night," he states, looking at Ben, "tell me about yourself."

Ben looks caught off guard at that, and it takes some more probing from Klaus, but eventually he does begin to talk about himself. He vaguely describes growing up in the academy, his siblings, his interests - he talks a lot about books, and it's nice to see his eyes light up with something he's interested in and compassionate about. He says he's been dead for ten odd years now, and though Klaus is curious about his death, he knows better to ask. Ben seems pleased when he skirts the subject, too. 

"Do you think da - Reginald will show up?" Ben asks him. Since when had he moved back onto the dresser? 

Klaus sits up, decides that's not a good idea, and falls back down on the bed. "Eh, who knows," he shrugs, "maybe. He was annoyed with me earlier, and then he's not made a reappearance since, so who knows. Is he usually a stubborn prick?" 

Ben snorts. "Sorry to say, yeah."

Klaus throws his hands in the air. "Fuck!" He yelps in frustration, then drags his hands down his face. "Well, that's fucking annoying, isn't it? Maybe he'll pop by in time for Luther to murder me or something."

Ben gives him a look Klaus has quickly become accustomed to, and Klaus responded with the innocent smile Ben had quickly become accustomed to.

"Maybe you should put the bottle away, Klaus," Ben comments, raising an eyebrow and pointedly looking at the bottle cradled to his chest.

"Whatever," Klaus mutters, although he does slide it into his bag and rolls over in bed. "Goodnight, Ben."

"Night, Klaus." 

 

 

 

Klaus wakes up to a knock on the door. For a moment he forgets where he is, blinking his eyes open and expecting to see the familiar messy floor of his own bedroom in his apartment. It throws him off slightly when he sees polished walls and no decorations. Then he remembers where he is.

With a groan, he heaves himself up to glare at the door.

"Good morning, Klaus," calls a robotic, sweet voice from the other side of the door. "I'm making breakfast. Would you like some?"

Well, he hadn't expected that. He glances at Ben, as if expecting him to answer for him. 

"Uh, _ja_ , yeah, I'll be a second," he calls. He slumps, rubbing his eyes and then running his hands through his hair. He isn't sure if he can stomach a big breakfast, in all honesty. Nonetheless, he uses the bed to pull himself onto his feet, tripping over the blankets wrapped around his legs, a curse falling past his lips.

"That's why you don't drink," Ben comments sarcastically. Klaus lifts his tired eyes to glare at the ghost and he reaches out, tapping his shoulder with fingers that flicker blue.

"Do you think a ghost can get drunk?" He replies, eying the bottle sticking out his bag. "I think it's worth a try."

Somehow, Ben manages to look both intrigued and dismissive of that idea.

"No," Ben says, shaking his head. "Definitely no."

"Aw, come on... just a lil' sip? You must be thirsty."

"No."

"But what if you _can_ drink? I'll buy you a burger later if you try!"

Ben's eyes narrow. "You couldn't try this with water or something?"

"I _could_ ," drawls Klaus, "but that wouldn't be so fun, would it?" 

Ben's fingers fidget by his side. "Fine."

Klaus lets out an excited yell and hurries to take the bottle out of his bag. Ben steps over hesitantly, staring at it with a dreadful expression. 

"I'm gonna keep a hold on it just, you know, in case it -" he pretends to drop it and Ben nods, opens a hand and reaches for it. His hands close around it hesitantly, and Klaus' hands hover around it as Ben pulls it to his lips, both of them tense with anticipation. Then -

_"Holy shit!"_

Ben drops it and Klaus manages to catch it. Ben doubles over, coughing and looking almost in pain.

"What _is_ that?" He splutters, staring at the bottle as if it just slapped him.

Klaus stares into the bottle, swirling it around. "Just a little concoction of mine."

"You drank that without flinching last night," Ben states, now looking at Klaus as if he'd grown two heads. He turns remorseful. "The first thing I've tasted in years and _that's_ it." He covers his mouth once more, shaking his head.

"Alright, alright, coward," Klaus scoffs, though his lips twitch up in a sly smile and he screws the lid back onto the bottle and shoves it into his bag. "Well, at least you're getting that burger now."

"I better be."

Klaus throws on some new clothes and wishes he'd brought more shoes. The boots he's wearing are nice and all, but he remembers a cute pair of shoes on his living room floor and he misses them. He thinks they'd compliment the sun dress he's wearing. 

"You're really going all out, huh?" Ben comments, watching as Klaus does a little twirl and wink at himself in the mirror on the wall.

 "I don't choose fashion, fashion chooses me, Benjamin."

"That's not my name, and, uh, I guess?"

"It should be, and damn right."

Klaus grabs his beloved bag and he hesitates before fixing the covers on his bed, and eventually exits his room. The academy is quiet and when Klaus goes into the kitchen, Five and Vanya are no where to be seen. Luther, Allison and Diego are sitting with plates of food and coffee in front of them, and when Klaus enters, Grace slides a plate in front of an empty seat.

"Would you like some coffee, dear?" She asks him and Klaus smiles.

"Uh, just water, please," he requests. She nods, eyelashes fluttering, and fetches him a glass of water. 

They eat in awkward silence heavy enough to make Ben clear his throat and shuffle awkwardly behind him. Klaus tries not to notice, instead focusing on the smiley face composed of eggs and bacon in front of him. He glances up at the silent siblings, pursing his lips. 

"Glad to see you're all morning people," he comments, leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs out under the table. "How are we all? Sleep well? Got a lot of plans for today?"

No one says anything. Allison smiles sympathetically, but seems to prefer drinking her coffee. Klaus' eyes slip to Ben, sitting on the counter a few feet away. Ben gives an awkward grin and a shrug.

"Something's up," he simply says, "but considering the whole incident last night, I think that's fair."

Klaus hums quietly, bobbing his head and returning to his breakfast. He isn't even that hungry, his horrific concoction of alcohol from last night leaving him with a dissatisfied stomach that food certainly isn't helping, and so eventually he looks over to Grace and smiles.

"Should I just put the dishes in the sink?" He asks, standing up and picking up the plate. Grace scurries over, placing one hand on his shoulder and taking the plate from his grasp with the other.

"Don't worry about that, dear," she dismisses, "I'll take it off your hands." Then she turns, heading towards the actual kitchen area and sorting it out. Klaus lingers for a second, rocking on his heels and trying to ignore the thick tension in the room. With a sigh, Klaus turns around, heading instead for the door to the courtyard. He never liked being stuck in one place, and at least outside he could calm his nerves with a cigarette. He sits down on the bench he had the day previously, crossing one leg over the other. Ben follows him after a few moments, sitting down next to him and looking around.

"I take it a lot changed since you were kids?" hums Klaus, raising an eyebrow. Smoke tumbles past his lips, disappearing into the chill of the morning air. Ben snorts, kicking (or at least trying to, his foot goes right through it) a stone. 

"Definitely," he nods. "Really after Five's disappearance it began going downhill... after I died, though, it really got worse. They all left the academy, except for Luther, and they all began to drift apart, doing their own stuff. The last time they were all together was at Allison's wedding."

"Weddings and funerals, huh?" Klaus laughs. He perches his cigarette between his lips to rub his cold hands together. "You know, I could try and manifest you for them. If you want. I can't promise it'll work - I've not really had much practise with it - but I could try." He turns to look at Ben, raising his eyebrows. Ben refuses to look at him, instead watching the trees nearby sway in the breeze, a conflicted expression on his face, his lips tight and eyebrows drawn together.

"I... that'd be awesome. I'm not sure how they'd take it. And if you couldn't do it I don't think they'd be... happy with you."

Klaus snorts at that. He drops the cigarette, grinding it out under the toe of his boot. 

"Definitely not," he agrees, tipping his head. He runs his hands down his face, peering to the side. "Do you know any good bars around?"

Ben gives him a funny look. "It's nine in the morning, Klaus."

Klaus raises his hands in defence, wearing a mock innocent smile. "What? I'm just kidding, just kidding... still. I say we revisit my little experiment to find out if you can get drunk or not. How amazing would that be? A drunk ghost!"

"Can you not just like, let me eat some toast or something?"

"Hey, I never said you could eat at all, though! You know what my theory is? You can taste it, feel it, yeah, but I don't think you'd be able to properly, uh, consume something. I don't think ghosts have a functioning stomach and intestine."

Ben frowns but nods his head in understanding, looking at his hands. "That's fair," he says.

They fall into easy silence, deep in thought. Klaus stretches his arms out above his head, hearing a satisfying pop come from his joints. He purposely ignores Ben's grossed out look and heaves himself to his feet. He claps his hands together.

"Well," he says, "today has been fascinating. I think it's time for me to fuck off home," he says, and he swipes his bag up from beside his feet, chucking it over his shoulder. 

"You - what?" Ben splutters, hurrying to scramble to his feet. Klaus laughs lightly at that, waving a hand. 

"I'm joking, calm down, Benny boy," he grins. "I just thought that was a bit of a tension breaker." He keeps walking towards the door and back inside. Diego's disappeared since he left, leaving just Allison and Luther, although they stop talking when Klaus comes in. Klaus offers a sheepish grin and a smile.

"Hey, sorry to intrude," he says. "I just, uh. Your dad. Was there a place he used to really like? Or hang out about a lot?" He asks awkwardly. 

That seems to draw their attention in, thankfully, as both siblings lean forwards.

"He's here?" asks Luther, eyes wide.

"No, that's the problem," Klaus says, waving a hand. "I want to try and summon him, or something. I want answers, you want answers; we all want answers. Might as well give it a shot," he shrugs, throwing his hands into his pockets. Luther swallows dryly before nodding, eyes flicking around. 

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, composing himself. He stands up, murmuring to Allison before walking over to Klaus. The German hesitates, as if expecting Luther to lash out unnecessarily again but he doesn't. 

"Where we had the funeral," he says, "that used to be his favourite spot. Under the oak tree." 

Klaus inclines his head in a nod and turns back to the door, Luther on his heels. They head over to the oak tree and Klaus glances around, blowing out a long breath and glancing around, fingers twitching. "Alright," he mutters, and he sits down on the grass just by the trunk of the large oak tree. He closes his eyes and instantly tries to relax himself and focus on the echo and dust in his bones, however...

He cracks his eyes open to peer up at Luther, hovering awkwardly above him.

"Can I help you?"

Luther clears his throat, shuffling awkwardly. "I..."

Klaus sighs, heaving himself to his feet and patting Luther's arm. "Hey, buddy... I know you want to see your dad," he says, voice soft, "but you should go inside. I can't promise this will even work, or that you'll be able to see him."

"What happened yesterday? You showed us a ghost then," Luther interrupts desperately.

"That's different. I didn't even mean to physically manifest it then. And, I'm sorry to say this, but your dad's a weird ghost. I've never had one be able to so thoroughly cut all ties with me like he has, so I have no clue what's going on. Sorry, bud. I'll try my hardest, but you're just gonna get cold waiting out here," he says, and he gestures a hand in the direction of the academy once more. Luther looks almost bewildered for a moment, lips parted and eyebrows drawing together, before he looks down at his feet and nods.

"Ah, yeah. Yeah," he stammers, clearing his throat. "I understand. I'll, uh. I'll be inside if you need me." 

Klaus simply nods his head, offering a small, apologetic smile and watching as Luther turns around and heads inside. Finally alone (aside from Ben, but Klaus doesn't mind him) Klaus sits back down, crossing his legs and closing his eyes again. He feels air ghost over his skin and cause goosebumps to ripple across his pale skin, though he wonders if some of it's more from the cold inside of him. 

Klaus never has really understood his powers, and he still doesn't. He doubts he ever will. He feels like an outsider with the living and an outsider with the dead, and he's constantly suspended between the two realms, one foot in each place. He feels like God's colossal mistake, something gone wrong, and he doesn't know what to make of that. Sometimes, on bad days, on days where Klaus can't remember his own name or if he ever had one in the first place, he can do nothing more than lay in one spot for the day, feel a deep ache in bones that are both his but feel like they shouldn't be, listen to the roaring crash of cold death in his veins. Sometimes he'd be stuck like that for hours or days, before he managed to get control of himself. Those periods of time had always terrified his mother; she'd come in to see him as pale and cold as a corpse, unblinking and unresponsive, and no one could do anything more than simply wait it out. Those were back in the times Klaus listened to much to the hauntingly sweet call of death that couldn't take him, although he understood now that he belonged in neither realm and trying to push to be a part of one of them was a bad idea.

Faces flicker behind his eyelids, age old voices moaning their last words in the shell of his ears, and Klaus pushes through them. There's a surprising and worrying amount of ghosts here, and a more worrying majority of them are victims of murder. Nannies with twisted necks and wide eyes, criminals with knife wounds and twisted limbs, people torn apart by alien limbs. It makes him feel sick, the overwhelming smell and taste of copper, and he swallows back gags to reach further. 

Reginald, Reginald, Reginald. A man that seemed to unsettle the dead, as well. That didn't play by death's rule, apparently. It unnerved Klaus as well, made him feel heavy with dread, as if he was about to stumble upon something he wasn't supposed to. 

A ghost sobs in his ear and another one gives out an ear splitting scream, and Klaus falls to his side in the dirt underneath the large oak tree outside of the Umbrella Academy, his chest rising and falling and lungs burning as if he had been holding his breath. He rubs a flickering hand on his chest and hauls himself to his feet, looking around. Nothing.

Fuck Reginald Hargreeves, he thinks, and he slumps against the tree trunk behind him and runs a hand down his face. He'll keep trying, then. He slides down the tree until he's sitting again, and his eyes close to face the horrors behind his eyes instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this part, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment; I appreciate it all!


	7. don't ask questions you don't want to know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Although his mother had always been supportive of Klaus, life for the two of them had never been easy. Certainly not to start out with.

His mother, Edith Schmidtt, had been single when she had him, her own mother somewhat distant and her father hadn't supported her when she had given birth, presuming that she had gotten pregnant on some random night out by some random man. Three months after giving birth to Klaus, he had passed away. Suddenly finding herself with a child she had never expected or necessarily wanted, one that drove that final wedge between her and her father before his passing, one that some strange man had tried to buy from her like a pet. No, she hadn't necessarily wanted Klaus, nor had she been in the position to have and raise him, but she kept him nonetheless and raised him like any mother would.

Klaus had been a troublesome baby. Never sleeping, never eating, never peaceful and always crying. When he spoke his first word at three years old, it had been in English.  _"Help."_

_(Edith would come to find out that before she moved into the small apartment that would become their home, an English tourist had been murdered there by her boyfriend.)_

Klaus spoke in small sentences that didn't make sense and, occasionally, weren't in German. Sometimes he would beg for help, to be saved, in a voice that terrified Edith, that made her think someone had broken into the house and threatened her child. Sometimes he'd mumble it with glossy, vacant eyes, staring at things non one else could see. And then he'd have full conversations with his imaginary friends. He had plenty, apparently. He'd draw consistent pictures of them, people with dark eyes, pale skin, and blood stains and wounds. He'd tell her that they were always talking, saying they needed help, but he couldn't help them. Sometimes he'd write what they told him on the walls, or he'd draw what they told him to. His walls became covered in random, repetitive sentences that only made sense to him. He mixed up German and English when he spoke even though Edith only spoke broken English, and never at home.

Sometimes he'd clamp his hands over his ears and scream. 

_"I don't want to hear them, mama."_

_"Make them stop, mama, make them stop."_

_"She won't let me sleep, mama. Tell her to be quiet. She's right there, mama, you're looking at her."_

_"The floor's dirty. It's all red. I don't like red."_

As it didn't stop, she took Klaus to a doctor. He still never slept and hardly ate, and when he did sleep, it was only for a handful of hours. Maybe it was a mix of all that and an overactive imagination. Physically, Klaus was fine. Skinny and cold, maybe, but not unhealthy. He offered advise and, eventually, some medicine to help him sleep, but although it made him sleep for longer, Klaus never seemed rested or peaceful. No amount of sleep would stop his nightmares or hallucinations. 

Edith sought out diagnoses; her mother told her to put the problem child up for adoption. And Edith considered it. She truly did; she hadn't expected a child nor wanted one nor been in the situation for one. It'd made her father think she was dirty and whorish, made her stressed and depressed, and turned her life around completely. And yet she couldn't; not when Klaus grinned with missing teeth, holding up a bowl of cereal he made for her breakfast and saying,  _"alles gute zum geburtstag!"_ '; not when he picked out flowers from their garden to make a little bouquet for her. 

Her mother, upon giving up with telling her to go for adoption, then went for religion. She was a religious woman, as was her father, and she was willing to try anything. 

In the end, it turned out nothing would help Klaus, even once they figured out Klaus wasn't ill, physically or mentally.

Despite all this, he was a sweet child, seemingly oblivious to the reality of it all. He was never unkind to people, nor to the ghosts it seemed. He was all smiles and red-rimmed eyes, breakfast in bed and drawing pictures for his mother. When Edith met a man and had another child, he was ecstatic to have a sister. When Frida's father left - a mix of simply being a bad man in general and not caring for his children - Klaus stepped up to helping take care of Frida. 

As a teenager, he learned to be simultaneously quieter and more outspoken. He had less of a filter and learned to use harsh words to protect himself. He was cold and closed off to anyone who wasn't his mother or sister. He went out to stranger's parties and for a long time, Edith couldn't bring herself to comment on the missing bottles in her liquor cabinet or the smell of Tabaco on his clothes. Perhaps now she wished she had; watching your son drink enough to land him in the hospital and dabble in drugs was heart breaking. She had shut down his adventures with weed and ecstasy as quickly as she found it, and for all she knew he hadn't returned to those. She knew he still smoked and drank, though she could simply trust it wasn't as bad as it had been. 

Raising Klaus had not been easy. Not by a long shot, but she wouldn't dream of going back and taking that strange man's offer. Klaus was her son under whatever circumstance he had been born. 

 

 

*********************

 

 

When Klaus opens his eyes, he sees an ant crawl past him on the ground. His ears ring and the ant turns to him, as if it can hear the ringing too, and it says  _"are you okay, Klaus?"_

It takes a shamefully long moment for Klaus to realise that no, actually, the ant did not say that. The person connected to the blue hand waving a few inches from his face said that. 

Slowly, Klaus lifts his head up, feeling as if he had weights tied around his neck, around his torso and his limbs, keeping him down on the ground. Though that's odd, because even though he can see his own hands on the ground, he can't feel it. 

Ben crouches down in front of him, elbows on his knees, peering at him. 

"You've been like that for ages," he states. "I couldn't wake you up... I'm not sure you were asleep anyway."

Now sitting up, Klaus raises his hands to rub his eyes and breathes in, out, in, out, reminding his lungs how to work normally. He clenches and unclenches his fists until feeling returns in his cold hands and he lets out a sigh.

"Don't worry 'bout it," he mutters. His eyes flick around the place, surprised to see the sun having made quick work crawling across the sky, before he turns around and uses the tree behind him to haul himself to his feet.

"Uh, I think I should. You looked dead."

Klaus waves a hand dismissively. "All part of the package," he jokes lightly. He starts with his feet; rolling his ankles and stretching his legs out, and then putting his hands on his hips and stretching back. He rolls his wrists and raising his hands in the air, sucking in a deep breath and stretching. He rolls his neck, closing his eyes and sighing, and he drums his fingers over his stomach. He can hear leaves rustle in the wind and cars honk at one another in the streets and he's back. Albeit empty-handed and exhausted, but back nonetheless.

Ignoring Ben's questions, Klaus crosses the courtyard in long strides until he gets back inside. The kitchen's empty and he's surprised to see that the clock tells him he's been outside for three hours.

Klaus runs a hand down his face. He'd gotten in too deep, lost himself for a while, and he hadn't even found Reginald. He hadn't even felt him. He had no idea if that was his own fault with his lack of control over his powers or if Reginald was just some spectacularly stubborn prick, even in death. He decides on the latter, wanting to feel good about himself. 

He lingers for a second before he makes his way out of the kitchen, heading towards the bedrooms. He hardly gets half way into the hallway when another door creaks open and Luther peers out. Klaus has to hold back a groan. He wants to be polite and friendly to them all, but he really can't be bothered right now. Plus, Luther looks so damn hopeful that Klaus doesn't want to crush it. His eyes flicker with concern, however, when he takes in Klaus' appearance. 

Klaus waves a hand in a vague greeting. "It didn't work," he states bluntly, hand on his bedroom door handle. "Sorry, Luther. I tried."

Luther's face falls like Klaus expected it to and he nods, shuffling on the spot. "It's, uh, fine. Thanks," he replies awkwardly. Klaus opens his door and Luther speaks up again. "Did you just get in?" He asks, tipping his head to the side. Klaus raises his eyebrows slightly and then nods.

"Yup."

Luther clears his throat. He glances to the side. "There's a bath, third door to your right. If you want to warm up. Or mom - Grace - can light the fire." 

Klaus watches Luther for a moment, rolling the words over in his mind. He supposes that's as close to an apology or an offer of some kind of peace treaty that Luther will get, so Klaus forces a smile onto his chapped lips and nods. He pats his arm gently. 

"Thanks, man," he simply says, and then he steps into his room, leaving the door slightly ajar. He hears Luther return to his own bedroom. 

Klaus collapses onto his bed with a groan. He pulls his arms out of his jacket, discarding it on the floor beside the bed, and then he fumbles to kick his shoes off for several moments before they thud to the floor. He lets himself melt into the bed, tense muscles relaxing, until he forces himself to sit up. He locates his bag, half-shoved under the bed, and he pulls it out, hand fishing through clothes to find his bottle of alcohol. It's almost empty, but if his body decides to be kind to him now, it'll be enough to make him tipsy. Hopefully. He swallows it with a frown and replaces the now-empty bottle back inside his bag. Heaving himself to his feet, Klaus runs a hand through his hair, grabs his bag, and heads towards the bathroom Luther pointed out.

It's big, and so is the tub at the opposite end. He drops to his knees at the tub, reaching over to turn the hot water on. He props his chin up on the edge of the porcelain tub, watching the water rush and crash into the tub, slowly filling up with steam rising and dancing in the air. 

Looking around, Klaus searches for anything to make the bath more exciting. There's not much; the entire academy's depressingly bare of entertainment and the bathroom hasn't been excluded from it, apparently. However, there are some candles that he lights with his lighter and he finds an old bottle of bubble mixture that will have to do. He pours the last of it in, chucking the empty bottle off to the side, and once the water's sufficiently high enough, Klaus discards his clothes in a pile on the floor and steps into the water, hot enough to sting his cold skin and make him hiss between his gritting teeth. 

Still, he lowers himself into the water and sinks back into the tub until the water reaches his collar bones. He takes a deep breath in, feeling his skin tingle as it warms up, bringing colour back to his cheeks and fingers. He lifts his hand out of the water, watching bubbles slip between his trembling fingers. His limbs felt like they'd been stuffed with lead and like he'd been drowned for hours, but his mind raced. When he blinked, phantoms reached out for him with blue hands. 

It hadn't happened lately, but then again he had never been searching for a ghost so hard before. Nor had he been completely sober, either; everything was so much worse when he was completely sober. He wondered if it was moments like those that he got a little too close to the spirit realm, or whatever. If he planted both feet in there and it threatened to devour him whole, skeletal hands like chains wrapping around him and anchoring him there, sapping the life out of him and coaxing him closer. Then again, though, for something so enticing and close to him, death always managed to elude him in one way or another like a damn miracle. Klaus didn't know what to make of death, nor his relationship with it. If he began to think about it, he wouldn't stop. He did know, however, that the longer he spent there or with the ghosts, the more attached they all got to him, the more death became a familiar friend with a black painted smile, hollow eyes and an open hand of dusty bones, reaching out to him. 

Klaus reaches out over the edge of the tub, grabbing his bag and pulling it close enough for him to rummage around in before finding his lighter and packet of cigarettes. He set one between his lips and fumbled several times to light it, and he inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering closed. Enough of that. He had more pressing matters. 

Despite wandering the limbo ghosts were locked away in for hours, there hadn't been a single trace towards Reginald. Not a glimpse of him, not a sensation, nothing. It was almost as if he was alive at this rate, no ties at all to ever having been a ghost. Klaus would doubt himself if he hadn't seen Luther spread his ashes the day before. So it seemed there wasn't much Klaus could do in respects of Reginald, which was beyond infuriating. Maybe he _should_ just go home. It didn't seem that anyone else even knew what was going on, either. But Pogo had expected him. Grace knew who he was. Reginald knew to seek him out.

Klaus drops his head into his hand with a sigh. God, it was just so infuriating. He felt beyond out of place and out of his depth here, having dived headfirst into something that both seemed to be nothing but seemed to be opening up to possibly the end of the world. Maybe he should talk to Five. After all, he had come back from the future and seen the apocalypse first-hand. Maybe he should be focusing on Five and helping him figure out the apocalypse, rather than spending his time at the academy. That was much easier said than done, however. He had no idea where Five was. It seemed no one here besides Allison and possibly Vanya had a phone, and he highly doubted Five did, either. Klaus eyes the smoulder cigarette between his fingers as if it were the source of all of his stress and problems. He finishes it off quickly and manages to flick it out of the window before he stands out of the bath, pulling the plug, and wrapping a towel around his hips. He dries himself off quickly before throwing on some clothes, grabbing his bag, and heading out.

In the corridor, Ben stands up and looks at him.

"Don't suppose you know where Five is?" asks Klaus, head cocked to the side. Ben glances around, hands stuffed into his pocket. 

"Pretty sure I saw him talking to Vanya earlier. He just left though, like, five minutes ago. Said something about everyone being useless and needing to find an eye. I think he might need some help."

Klaus claps his hands together. "Perfect! We've got no time to waste, Ben!" He exclaims, and then he hurries down the corridor and down the stairs. He pauses outside, glancing around in hopes of finding the not-really-thirteen year old. It's Ben that spots him, though, and he waves Klaus over to the alleyway next to the academy. Sure enough, there he is at the other end, throwing a bag into the back of a van. 

Klaus hurries over, waving a hand. "Hey, Five!" He calls, which catches his attention. Five turns to him from the back of the van, fixing him with a questioning look.

"Klaus, is it?" He asks, and he nods. "What is it?"

"Heard you needed help," says Klaus, pausing to catch his breath. For a brief moment he almost regrets all of the cigarettes he's chain smoked throughout his life. Almost. "Here I am."

Five presses his lips together thoughtfully, eying Klaus. 

"Where'd you hear that?"

Klaus' eyes flick to Ben. He shrugs. "I've got a great skill of knowing things I shouldn't physically be able to know," he states, waving a hand. "And anyway, I wanted to talk to you."

Five pauses, seeming thoughtful. "Have you got a suit?" He asks. 

Klaus' eyebrows draw together and he glances at the bag hanging from his shoulders. "Uh, no..."

He shakes his head with a sigh. "Alright. Look, I need help, you've got questions, obviously. Help me out and we can talk after," he says, eyebrows raised. Klaus nods in agreement and watches Five crawl out of the van. "Wait here." 

It's not like Klaus has a choice, really, because Five disappears with a flash of blue, leaving Klaus standing there. He shares a look with Ben who simply shrugs.

A couple of minutes later, Five reappears, a bundle in his arms. He holds it out to Klaus.

"Put those on and get in the van. I'll explain on the way."

Klaus takes the bundle that now is obviously clothes and he raises his eyebrows. "Not a sentence I thought I'd ever hear," he mutters, but Five heads inside the van. Klaus looks at the clothes - a striped suit - and decides going inside to get changed is out of the question, so he does his best to hide behind the van as he pulls the slightly ill-fitting suit on, shoving his own clothes inside his bag, and then he joins Five in the front of the van. 

"Shouldn't, uh, I be driving?" He asks, eying Five's hands on the steering wheel. Five gives him a dirty look.

"I'm older than you, I know how to drive." 

Klaus slinks back into the passenger seat. "The police don't know that," he murmurs but says nothing else. Five starts the van up and pulls out of the alley and onto the road, and then he begins to talk.

"The apocalypse is going to happen in a week," he says, "the only hint I have is a glass eye that I suspect belongs to the person who causes the apocalypse. I've found out where the eye was made, but because I look like a damn thirteen year old, they won't let me in. So, I need an adult. My father. That's where you come in."

Klaus hums, bobbing his head in a nod. "So, I've just gotta pretend to be your dad?"

"Pretty much. I'll handle the talking."

Klaus is A-Okay with that. Especially now, as his filter slips and head spins pleasantly. It turns out his body decided to be nice and that last little bit of alcohol has helped a little. He makes a mental note to buy some after this little adventure with Five.

"Easy enough," he shrugs. His eyes slide over to Five. "Can I ask why you think the eye specifically links to the apocalypse?" He asks. Five's jaw clenches.

"Later. I said we could talk after this. Plus, we're here," he dismisses. Klaus watches Five as he pulls the van to a park across from a large lab and then clamber out of the van. Klaus says nothing and follows him across.

It doesn't take them long to get to Mr. Big's office. Klaus offers the man a smile, reaching out to shake his hand. 

"Pleasure to meet you," he greets. "You've met my son."

The man sighs, eying Five warily. "I have. Take a seat, please."

Klaus does, eager to sit down. Five doesn't, all tense and jaw clenched. They argue back and forth for what feels like ages, Five arguing his point of playing along, simply trying to help find the owner of the eyeball, and the man insisting he can't do anything to help them. Eventually, he turns to Klaus. 

"Like I said to your son earlier," the man says, "any information about the prosthetics we build is strictly confidential. Without the client's consent, I simply can't help you."

Five shifts on the spot, hands clenching and unclenching in frustration. He takes a step forwards, setting his hands on the table and leaning forwards. "Well, we can't get consent if you don't give us a _name_ ," he insists. 

Mr. Big's shrugs, waving his hands in a vague gesture. "Well, that's not my problem," he replies with a helpless shrug. "Sorry. Now, there's really nothing more I can do, so-"

Klaus can feel things going south, Mr. Big's beginning to dismiss them, and as handed the role of responsible adult, he finally speaks up, words falling past his lips without much thought going into them.

"And what about _my_ consent?" He questions, sitting up in the seat and clasping his hands together. His kohl-lined eyes turn sharp on Mr. Big's, lips twitching. Mr. Big's eyebrows knit together.

"Excuse me?"

Klaus continues without hesitation. He's seen things like this in movies and in stories, and he knows that if pleasant persistence won't work, nothing kind will. So, he forges on, making his voice waver emotionally. "Who gave you permission... to lay your hands... on my son?" He points up at Five with a trembling finger, toying with his bottom lip. 

"What?" Both Mr. Big's and Five say simultaneously. 

"You heard me," hisses Klaus. 

"I didn't touch your son," replies Mr. Big's, looking at Klaus as if he was crazy.

"Oh, really?" He drawls, words dripping with sarcasm. "Well, then how did he get that swollen lip, then?" 

As Mr. Big's begins to point out that Five doesn't actually have a swollen lip, Klaus stands up, chair scraping the floor, and the room tilts as he throws a slightly-pulled punch on Five. Five grunts, hand flying up to his mouth as Klaus turns to the brunette, sitting with a shocked expression. Five mirrors the shock, bouncing between that and debating returning a punch to Klaus, but he, surprisingly, lets Klaus continue.

"I want it. Name please, now," urges Klaus, leaning forwards on the table. Mr. Big's leans back in his chair, pointing at him.

"You're crazy!" He gasps. Klaus' lips twitch upwards and he laughs.

"You got no idea, bud," he grins. Then he glances down at his hands and the snow globe on the desk next to them. He picks it up, turning it around in his hands. " _Peace on earth_ ," he hums out loud, shaking it slightly to watch the glittery snowflakes dance around. "How _sweet_." Without warning, Klaus brings it to his head. The thin glass smashes instantly, cutting his forehead and showering the desk with glitter, smashed glass and water. 

Five and Mr. Big's jump, a resounding gasp echoing in the room. Klaus doesn't really focus on it, though, more focused on the dizziness and pain in his head. Perhaps that hadn't been the best idea to impulsively go through with. 

"God, that hurt!" Klaus hisses through gritted teeth, blinking and swallowing back pain and finally looking up. 

Mr. Big's goes for the phone. Klaus is quick, however, lashing out to tear it from his hands. 

"There's been an assault," he gasps, "in Mr. Big's office. We need security, now, _schnell_!" 

He carelessly throws the phone back down on the receiver and smiles at Mr. Big's. Klaus leans on the table, looking up.

"Now, here's what's gonna happen, Grant. In about sixty seconds two security guards are gonna burst through that door and they're gonna see a whole lot of blood, and they're gonna wonder 'what the hell happened here?' And we're gonna tell them that _you_... savagely beat the shit out of us!" He finishes his sentence with a shaky sob, leaning back and dropping his hands to his side. The sob turns to a breathy laugh and he raises an eyebrow. 

The brunette swallows anxiously, looking between Klaus and Five. "You're a real sick bastard," he mutters. Klaus purses his lips, feels a shard of glass in his mouth.

"Danke schön," he says, and spits the glass out. He spares a glance at Five to see that he looks... oddly impressed, a victorious glint in his eyes as he smirks at a defeated Mr. Big's.

Mr. Big's doesn't put up much of a fight, then, and takes the two of them to a storage room and flicking through some files as Five repeats the number on the prosthetic eye. Klaus sits on the counter, watching the brunette intently as he fumbles with folders and eventually mutters, "Oh... that's strange."

Five perks up. "What is it?"

Mr. Big's glances up and down again. "Uh, the eye. It hasn't been purchased by a client yet."

Klaus slides off the counter, stepping around to his other side. He sets a hand close to Mr. Big's, his chest pressed against his back, uncomfortably close, and asks, "what? What do you mean, buddy?"

The man fumbles for a moment in discomfort. "Well, the log says the eye with that serial number... this can't be right. It says it hasn't even been manufactured yet," his eyes turn to Five, narrowing with suspicion. Five's eyes flicker closed, mouth twisted in a frustrated smile. "Where did you get that eye?" Mr. Big's asks, and Klaus claps a hand on his shoulder.

"Thanks for your time, John. Really. I appreciate it. We'll see ourselves out," he says, flashing a smile. With that, he heads towards the door, urging Five to follow him as the two head outside, leaving the man behind in shock.

Klaus is glad to be back outside, sucking in a deep breath and sitting down on the steps outside of the lab. He watches Five pace for a moment, running a hand through his hair before he lets out a heavy sigh and sits down next to Klaus.

"This isn't good," Five mutters, fingers tapping the floor anxiously. Klaus raises an eyebrow.

"I think I did pretty good," he mumbles, "and we still found out something. We can keep track of people coming in and out for pro-prosthetics," he offers. Five's jaw clenches and he has to force tension out of his muscles.

"We haven't got time," he sighs, but then he shakes his head. "Whatever. Right, a promise is a promise. What did you want to ask?" He asks, quickly switching topics, seeming not to want to stress out over it at the moment. Klaus perks up.

"The apocalypse," he states, "tell me about it."

Five raises an eyebrow. "Why?" He asks, not rude but rather curious.

Klaus purses his lips. "Well, your dad called me here for a reason. He's not showing his face to give me answers as to why, so I'm going to assume it's to do with the apocalypse. So, I want to know about it. I'm here to help."

Five watches him carefully, hands clasped together before he nods. He looks forwards, watching nothing in particular. "You were there," he says, quiet. Klaus turns quickly, raising his eyebrows. Five continues. "You were there. Dead. Like everybody else. I was the only person still alive. I must have only appeared an hour or so after whatever happened, happened, and I was near it. Everyone... Luther, Diego, Allison, they were dead. I couldn't find Vanya. But you were there. I thought you had done it, at first. You just so happened to be with my siblings that had banded together - and now I know it's the first time they'd all been together in years - and they died trying to stop the end of the world. And there was you. But you had both eyes and you showed up all buddy-buddy with my siblings, saying that dad sent you there. So I guess not," Five shrugs, voice quiet, leg bouncing. 

Klaus looks at his hands, letting out a small "ah." He clears his throat, glancing at a curious Ben. "Well, that's a relief," he murmurs, and he sits up a bit to stretch his arms above his head. Five gives him a questioning look.

"What is? Your death, me thinking you killed the world, or you not killing the world?"

Klaus purses his lips, slumping. "Well, all of it, really," he hums. "I don't particularly want to end the world, and I was beginning to think I couldn't die. So... that's a relief.

Five looks curious at that but he doesn't press. Klaus is thankful. He isn't sure he wants to go into depths about his own powers.

"So, we don't really know who causes it," says Klaus. Five sighs and shakes his head, looking troubled. Klaus can't blame him. Imagine having to bury your siblings at thirteen years old and surviving through the end of the world by yourself. Klaus would certainly be ready to throw in the towel and spend the next seven days in a drunken blur. 

He stands up, clapping his hands together. "Well," he says, flashing Five a grin. "I'm here to help and you're here this time. We can do things differently this time around," he states, and Five stares at him for several moments, eyes dark, before he eventually smiles. 

"Yeah," he murmurs, "yeah. We will."

With that, they head back to the academy in a taxi. Five seems slightly less stressed, seemingly perking up a bit by Klaus' determination to use this second chance, and Klaus feels good. He'll help Five and the others to figure out what's going on with the apocalypse, and no one will have to die. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaus seems to have won Five's respect, it seems! 
> 
> Feel free to leave a kudos or a comment; I love hearing your opinions and feedback!


	8. no way out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little bit in German goes as follows;
> 
> Klaus; "No English. I don't understand, let me go."  
> Cha-Cha; "I speak German. You know who Five - 'Five' - is?"  
> Cha-Cha; "Didn't expect that?"  
> Klaus (later); "We're not siblings. I met him two days ago."  
> Klaus: "(I came for the funeral.) Simple."  
> Klaus (later); "I don't know! Please, please."  
> Klaus: "No, no, please."  
> Or, at least, that's what it is supposed to mean. My German is rusty. If it's wrong and you know the correct translation, please correct me!
> 
> Warnings for injury and violence.
> 
> Enjoy!

"You said you didn't think you could die."

Klaus' eyes slip over to Five, raising an eyebrow.

"Yup," he confirms.

"How come?"

Klaus lets out a sigh, watching buildings fly past them. "Well, the joys of having powers with the dead, I guess. Either that or I'm insanely lucky," he shrugs, drumming his fingers on his thigh. 

"So you're immortal," states Five. Klaus shakes his head.

"No, no. I don't think so. If you shot me right now, I'm pretty sure I'll be dead. But... I dunno. When you work with ghosts and death, things get a little tricky," he states. He runs a hand down his mouth, sparing a glance to a curious Five.

"How does it even work?" He asks, and Klaus purses his lips. 

"I don't know," he says. His nails dig into the palms of his hands. When he glances at Ben, sitting in the passengers seat of the taxi and looking back at them, a scream echoes in his ears and he sees blood, so much blood. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, composes himself and looks back at Five. "Always have seen the ghosts, always will."

Five's eyes linger on him but he doesn't say anything as the taxi rolls to a stop in front of the academy. Klaus is half out the car when he realises Five isn't coming out. He raises an eyebrow curiously and Five waves a hand dismissively.

"I've got something to do first," he states. 

"Need help?"

"I've got it," dismisses Five, and Klaus simply nods.

"Take care of yourself," he says, and then he closes the door and heads up towards the academy. He ducks into the bathroom, heading to the sink to wash the blood and glitter off his face, and he's all too eager to put his own clothes on and discard of the random suit. He wonders where Five got it from, but decides not to dwell on it. 

Dressed in his own sundress and long coat, he smiles at his reflection and then he crouches, hands digging around in his bag to find his wallet. He stuffs it into his pocket and leaves his bag in his room, and then he makes his way back downstairs, Ben trailing behind him. He hears Luther and Allison talking in hushed voices in the living room and he thinks about hopping in to see what they're talking about, but he simply continues on his way outside.

"Nice to see Five doesn't think you're the cause of the end of the world," Ben comments outside. Klaus snorts, tipping his head back and to the side.

"Yeah, real nice," he responds. "Glad to see that he's not, like, out to kill me or anything."

His feet carry him down the streets, weaving between people and ghosts. Why are there ghosts? He notices it with a panicked breath, eyes widening a fraction when a car drives through someone. If there's one thing Klaus has learned to do with his powers, that's to block the ghosts away. It's shaky at best, but he managed to put up a wall between himself and them. He can filter them through and chase them away and he can pick and choose when he wants to see them, so when he specifically doesn't want to see them and yet here they are, hollow eyes watching Klaus from windows and alleys and roads and even Ben seems a bit startled.

"I've not actually seen any other ghosts around since you came about," he says. Klaus hums.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "I, uh, kinda filter them. Apparently not now, though." He says that last bit with bitterness, keeping his eyes and head down. He's like a damn beacon to them, but if he acknowledges them, it all just gets worse. Ben picks up on it and doesn't say anything, simply following with a frown as Klaus ducks into the nearest liquor shop.

Klaus doesn't glance at him as he strolls the shelf, eying bottles. He wanders to the counter, looking over at the bottles behind the cashier; a tan-skinned, older woman with obvious botox, long fake nails, and poorly plucked eyebrows. 

"Two of those Balkan's, please," Klaus requests, leaning on the counter and pulling his wallet out. The cashier raises an eyebrow slightly but complies, placing the bottles down and gesturing for an ID, which Klaus hands over. Satisfied, she scans them and Klaus pays with his card, shoves the bottles into his bag, and heads back to the academy. He hears the impact of a car crash from years ago echo in his ears, hears sobbing and gasping and _Klaus, Klaus, Klaus_. 

The academy is quiet. Allison and Luther aren't talking as loudly anymore, and Grace, Diego, Five or Vanya aren't around either. He's almost grateful for that, though, and he hides away in his room, closes the door, and falls onto his bed, almost instantly going for his alcohol. While he's at it, he pulls out his cigarettes and lighter, too. He holds one bottle of Balkan vodka up, eying the label and alcohol content, and he hesitates. Maybe he should dilute it down a bit. However, when Klaus looks at Ben, looking out the window and oblivious to the blood dripping down him and pooling on the floor, Klaus throws caution to the wind and pulls the lid off. 

It burns and makes him cough and the aftertaste makes him feel sick, but Klaus is nothing if not determined and he alternates between that and his cigarettes. At some point, Ben becomes a little quieter, or Klaus becomes a little distant. It doesn't matter, anyway, because it takes all his effort to not burn himself or the room when he lights another cigarette.

He isn't sure how much time passes. He goes through two more cigarettes, flicking them out the window once he's done, and he sees Ben in the corner of his eyes mouthing silent words to him, drowned out by the screaming in the corridor. (He checked earlier, it's not from any living person.) Rather, it's an old nanny, seemingly. Her eyes wide, lips blue, neck broken. Her screams and hysterical sobs punch through the air, but when she speaks it's in a hoarse voice, a weak whisper. The kid killed her, the kid killer her, _the kid killed me, the kid killed me._  

And then there's another nanny. Neck broken, lips blue. The kid killed her too, apparently. And a gunman with a stab wound in his chest. A different kid killed him in the middle of their bank heist. People with limbs pulled apart and twisted and broken, drowned in their own blood, gurgle out that a kid came into the room and he turned into a monster and killed them all. A man from the fifties said a time travelling assassin shot him. 

And the worst part of it, is that they won't go away. Klaus' hands fizzle blue and he pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes and wills them away, but they don't. Instead, they'd rather crowd around him on the bed, beg and demand justice and revenge, recount their grizzly murders in agonising detail, send blood flying across the room as they scream and pace. 

He needs out. The academy - or the people in it - have too many ghosts and they've dug their claws into him, found someone who they think can send messages to their families and kill their killers and bring them back to life. Or simply a living person that they hate because he's alive and they're not.

Klaus' nails leave scratches by his ears. He knows it's futile; they only yell louder when he tries drown them out. He can't hear Ben and he can only catch flashes of him in the back of the room, and when he does he catches flashes of bloody tentacles and a body torn to shreds. It doesn't make him better.

He thinks he might drown in it all and he scrambles to his feet, grabbing his jacket despite feeling too hot, and he staggers through the corpses and into the corridors. Another nanny. Klaus steers clear of her, hands over his ears, and he stumbles down the staircase, miraculously not falling. His bare feet slap on the floor as he hurries towards the door and he almost reaches it before a real, solid person catches him.

"Hey, Klaus," Diego calls. "Great timing, we're having a meeting. You might want to join."

Klaus' red-rimmed eyes flicker over to Diego, lingering in the living room doorway. His eyebrows raise at the sight of him. "You alright, man?" He asks sheepishly, taking a few steps closer, and Klaus lowers his hands from his ears.

_"Him, him, him, the bastard stabbed me. Murdered me. Killed me."_

Klaus smiles shakily. "Me? Oh, yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. _Great_ ," he says, throwing his hands onto his hips. 

"You don't look too good," Diego snorts. Klaus steps back to avoid the hand reaching for his shoulder. Then, with furrowed eyebrows, "are you drunk?"

Klaus snorts. "I wish. Possibly in twenty minutes, once it really hits me, but now? Nope."

"Klaus -"

"What's this about a meeting? Sounds important, lead the way," he urges, waving a hand, the other running under his eyes. Diego's eyes linger on him but he doesn't say anything, simply turning back and guiding the way into the living room. Everyone save for Five is standing around a small monitor put on the bar. Gazes linger on him in shock and his shoulders tense defensively.

"Are you -"

"Nope," Klaus dismisses quickly, eyes trained on the paused image of Reginald and Grace on the monitor.

"Seriously," Luther says incredulously. "You're drunk. We haven't got time for this."

Klaus tips his head to the side, rolling his eyes. "I am, unfortunately, not drunk. And with the day I've had, I think I deserve it right now," he bites, arms folding across his chest.

"You've been out all day," Luther states, and Klaus raises his eyebrows.

"Ah, yes, let us just brush off this morning's search for _your_ father. And I was out with Five, actually, helping him. You know, what I do isn't easy, Luther. And it's not any easier by the fact this academy is absolutely crawling with ghosts; I mean, how many nannies did you go through!?" He laughs, eyes flicking back over his shoulder. That statement catches everyone's attention, and they peer over at him.

"We've only ever had Grace," Allison says, and Klaus laughs.

"Oh, no, you haven't," he says, but he falters. They do look completely oblivious to what he's saying. "Maybe you were all really young, but I can tell you that there's at least three dead nannies in this academy. It's lovely, you know. Great. Poor little things, necks all broken. Killed too young."

" _Killed_?" Echoes Vanya, and Klaus hums. 

"Killed. Dunno who by, nor do I really want to. They're not the only ones -" he cuts himself off, balling his hands into fists and taking a breath. Then he smiles. "What's the meeting about?"

Luther seems eager to change the topic, though Klaus thinks his (apparently) shocking words linger with everyone. 

"Watch. I knew dad's death was off, but this is... just watch." He reaches out to press play on the monitor and everyone leans closer (Klaus doesn't really care. To him, Reginald is dead whether or not it was natural or if Grace killed him. Reginald didn't seem concerned about his death, after all) to watch it. 

After the first playing, Vanya shakes her head. "I mean, do you really think mom would hurt dad?" She asks. 

"You haven't been home in a long time, Vanya," Luther sighs coldly. "Maybe you don't know mom anymore."

"If he was poisoned," Diego says, frustration in his voice, "it would have shown up in the coroners report."

Luther shakes his head. "Well, I don't need a report to tell me what I can see with my own eyes," he snorts.

"Maybe all that low gravity in space messed with your vision. Look closer." Diego reaches out to replay the tape.

"Dad has the monocle. Mom stands up. Monocle's gone. She wasn't poisoning him... she was taking it. To clean it." 

"Then where is it?" asks Luther, raising his eyebrows. "No, I've searched the house, including her things. She doesn't have it."

Diego sighs, looking at his feet. "That's because I took it from her. After the funeral." He toys with a knife in his hands. 

"You've had the monocle this whole time? What the hell, Diego?" Allison asks, eyes narrowed. 

"Give it to me," Luther demands.

"I threw it away."

"You _what_?"

"Look, I knew that if you found it on mom, you'd lose your shit; just like you're doing right now." Diego stalks forwards, pointing the tip of a sharp knife at Luther. 

"Diego, you son of a bitch," Luther growls, stepping forwards. Vanya hurries between them.

"Hey, no, calm down," she urges, glancing between a defensive Diego and an angry Luther. "Look, I know dad wasn't exactly an... open book. But I do remember one thing he said. Mom was, well, designed to be a caretaker. But... also a protector."

Allison shakes her head. "What does that mean?"

"She was programmed to intervene if someone's life was in jeopardy."

"Well," Luther begins, "if her hardware is degrading... then we need to turn her off."

Diego kicks off. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait. She's not just a vacuum cleaner you can throw in the closet. She _feels_ things, I've seen it!" 

"She just stood there, Diego, and watched dad die!" Luther snaps. 

"I'm with Luther."

Diego scoffs at Allison. "Surprise, surprise."

"Shut up," she hisses.

Both Diego and Luther turn to a troubled looking Vanya. "I - I don't -"

"Yeah, she shouldn't get a vote," Diego scoffs. Vanya huffs.

"I was going to say I agree with you," she says, giving him a hurt look, and Diego raises hands.

"Okay, she does get a vote." 

Then they turn to Klaus. Throughout the entire thing he had been half there, leaning against a wall and fidgeting, staring at a wall and trying to block out the ghosts. Ben murmured some comforting words but Klaus couldn't look at him without catching flashes of his gruesome death, hearing his voice warp into a tortured scream. 

"What about you, ghost boy?" asks Diego.

"He's not part of the family," Luther states.

"Yeah, and I'm jealous," Diego snaps sarcastically. "Dad tried to buy him too, and he kept tabs on him. He gets a say while he's here."

Klaus toys with his lips, trying to catch up with the conversation.

"I agree with Luther," murmurs Ben, and Klaus presses his lips together. He might not know the extent of their family problems, but he does know something.

"You don't just kill your mama," he mutters, shaking his head and then pointing a finger at Diego. "I'm with Diego." Beside him, Ben shakes his head.

"Vote's not final yet," Allison says, cutting off a triumphant Diego.

"What?"

"Five's not here. The whole family has to vote. We owe each other that."

"Well, apparently we've started letting alcoholics into the family," Luther mutters sarcastically, eying Klaus. And here he thought they'd reached an understanding. Although Klaus bristles, he decides to say nothing. 

"We should wait," Allison states, and everyone seems to take it as the last word, heading out of the living room. Klaus lingers for a moment before leaving too, heading back up to the bedroom. He's slightly more composed, now, not ready to run out of the academy with no shoes on. Instead, with seemingly the rest of the evening and night to himself until Five appears, at least, he's willing to plug his earphones into his ears, turn his playlist up to full volume, and down enough vodka to make him pass out. 

Ben sits with him in his bedroom, thoughtfully looking out the window. He speaks up a few times, mostly just to comment on Klaus' habits.

"Have you read the percentage on that?" He asks, eyebrows raised. "I think that's enough, Klaus."

Klaus simply waves him off each time, only pausing whenever he feels like he might vomit. As soon as the nausea fades, though, he chases it down with a sip of burning liquor. He fumbles to open the window when his skin burns uncomfortably warm and he leans half out of it, trying to catch some of the cool air outside before the sight of the ground far below him makes his head spin and he slumps back onto the bed. Lady Gaga blares in his ears and he can't spot Ben, and then he realises it's because his eyes are closed. It doesn't matter. He's exhausted and Lady Gaga' drowns out every other noise. He remembers enough to move onto his side in case he vomits, and he ignores Ben muttering things like 'alcohol poisoning'. 

 

 

When he does wake up, it's sudden. Which is unusual after drinking so much. His earphones are yanked out of his ears and he startles awake to Ben's yelling and hands on him. His stomach lurches and he swallows several times, but the motion of the man in a blue mask hauling him out of the bed like he weighs nothing sends his stomach and head into a violent protest.

"They broke into the house, Klaus, you need to fight," Ben urges, and Klaus can only think _what_ ?

They're moving too fast. He's like a ragdoll, hanging over the man's shoulders. He's making for a bedroom with a fire escape leading out of the academy. He can see bullet holes in the wall and hear the siblings talking rapidly downstairs.

He's being kidnapped. It hits him all of a sudden through the haze of his mind and Klaus thrashes wildly, trying to throw himself off the man, but Klaus isn't a fighter and this man obviously is. 

In this moment, Klaus regrets never signing up for karate or boxing as a child, and simultaneously drinking something with an eighty-something percent alcohol content. His lashing and thrashing isn't doing anything but making his vision swim and stomach twist. He has to clamp a hand over his mouth and blink furiously to keep from passing out or vomiting over his shoulder. His fist thumps down on his back, tug at his shirt, and he wills something to happen. His fingers fizzle blue and he reaches for the first thing he sees; a lamp. It flickers on and off several times, then shakes on the spot, but finally, it flies towards him, landing in his hand, and he smashes it against his back. The man lets out a gasp and stumbles, dropping Klaus to the floor with a thud, and Klaus groans, fingers scratching the ground as he forces himself to his feet, clinging to the wall. He takes a step forwards, croaking out "guys, I need help -" when something hits the back of his head and everything goes dark.

 

 

 

He wakes up in a worse state than previously. He's in a small space, duct tape over his mouth and tying his wrists together. It takes him a moment to realise he's in a car - in the trunk, more specifically - and he's jostled around each time the car swerves or goes over a bump, pulling a muffled groan from his lips. He curls in on himself, limbs cramping from confinement, but there's nothing he can do except for try and process what's happening and wait for the car to come to a stop.

He can hardly even remember it. There was the family meeting, and then he'd disappeared to his room to get drunk. He'd woken up to a man throwing him over his shoulder and carrying him out of the academy, and Ben saying they had broken in. _They_. So there's more than just the man that's in on this. 

He wonders if the others are okay. He had seen bullet holes, but he'd also heard them all talking downstairs before he got dragged out, so they must be. They would have been rushing more if that was the case. 

Now, the most important part; _he had been fucking kidnapped_. He was horrendously drunk. He felt like he was going to overheat in the back of the trunk. His head pounds furiously and he simply couldn't make sense of the situation. Who were they? Why did they break in? And why did they grab him, of all people? Although, he supposed that he was probably the easiest to grab.

The car thuds to a halt and his head hits the car painfully, and he hears the doors slam as the man gets out. He doesn't immediately come to the trunk. In fact, he thinks about fifteen minutes pass, in which Klaus becomes increasingly more panicked, before the trunk opens up and he's face to face with a familiar Blue mask, accompanied by a woman wearing a similar Pink one. 

He finds himself tied down to a chair in a motel room within five minutes, the two of them unbothered by his struggles.

"He's telekinetic, I think," Blue says, pulling out more duct tape. Pink stares at him from behind his mask and then nods, reaches for the othered bit of duct tape. 

"You might want to close your eyes," she advises dully, and Klaus does the opposite; eyes widening, but as she approaches them he can't help but squeeze them shut, and the duct tape pressed across from them keeps them like that. 

"He's also drunk," states Pink. Without his sight, he feels much more on edge, way too vulnerable. 

"Yeah, well, we can sober him up," Blue snorts. Klaus doesn't like the sound of that. Pink lets out a sigh, as if irritated she had to go out of the way to deal with Klaus despite him not at all willingly coming with them.

He hears footsteps approach him again and long nails scratch his cheek as Pink pulls the duct tape off his mouth. Klaus' tongue dashes out across it and he takes in a ragged breath. Her hand roughly grips his jaw, forces his face forwards.

"I can shoot you faster than you can scream, understand?" She says, nails digging into his skin, and he doesn't say anything. She takes it as a yes, however. 

"You know who Five Hargreeves is?" She asks.  

" _Kein Englisch_ ," he mumbles, " _Ich verstehe nicht, lass mich gehen_." 

" _Ich spreche Deutsch_ ," Pink replies quickly, and Klaus freezes. " _weißt du, wer Fünf - 'Five' - i_ _st_?"

Klaus' nails scratch the wooden arm rests beneath his hands, mouth moving silently and Pink laughs hollowly.

_"Hat das nicht erwartet?"_

"Who are you?" He asks. Pink pats his cheek patronisingly.

"Ah, so now you know English?" She muses. "I'll give you one last chance, okay? Just because I think you might be willing to work with us, especially since you've been so nice and gotten yourself all drunk for us. So, do you know who Five Hargreeves is?"  

Klaus toys with his lip and doesn't reply. What do they want with Five? 

"You were in that academy. You do know," she tells him. "Where is he?"

"I - I don't know," he admits, jerking his head back from her grip. He doesn't need to see the room to know it's spinning. 

Pink stands up and sighs. "I gave you a chance," she says, and then the duct tape is back over his mouth and he doesn't have a moment to react before her fist collides with his face. His head whips to the side and he grunts, screwing up his face, but her fist comes back once, twice, a third time and then a fourth time, until he tastes blood in the back of his mouth and his jaw sings with pain.

He realises that, without his sight, he's virtually helpless. He can't work his telekinesis without sight - or, he can't work it accurately - and ghosts are useless.

However, he can hear Ben. He was behind him, murmuring soft words of support. Not like support would get him out of here, however. 

He didn't realise how much of an effect simply having your sight taken from you could have. He didn't know exactly where his captors were, or what they were doing or planning, and he couldn't get an idea of their surroundings other than he knew there was a table next to the door and two beds that he'd seen on the way in. If they had a gun or a knife or something, he'd have no idea. If they were right in front of him, winding back their fist, he'd have no idea until the hit. They could be comfortable with taking off their masks without fear of him seeing their faces.

He took small comfort in that part. If they hid their faces from him, it meant that they didn't plan to kill them. However, the moment they did carelessly leave their masks off and not worry about him seeing their faces, then he had to worry. They'd have no intentions of letting him go if he knew what they looked like. That was the only bonus he had here.

He heard the shuffle of footsteps and then another hit came to him, though this time he suspected it was Blue rather than Pink. He heard a crack and he wasn't sure if that was from himself or Blue's knuckles, but he let out a groan as pain blossomed across his cheek. The next blow came to his stomach, doubling him over as the air rushed out of his lungs. He moaned, swallowing down bile and breathing heavily through his nose. 

"One last chance," hums Pink. Klaus grunts, mumbling out an  _I don't know,_ and he hears the woman sigh. There's a familiar flicker and Klaus has a second to identify it as a lighter, smell a cigarette be lit, before it's pressed into the bare skin on his arm. He lets out a muffled yelp, jumping and trying to pull himself away from the pain, but Pink keeps the cigarette there for several long seconds until, eventually, she pulls it back and flicks it away. Klaus' body trembles as he heaves in a deep, shuddering breath. He feels his eyes sting and he strains his ears to listen to Pink as she wanders around him. He hears the lighter flicker to life and he tenses, feeling heat burn close to him and then blow across his arm. 

 

 

 

It seems that she likes to burn him. In the next intermediate amount of time she puts out another four cigarettes on his skin - two on his shoulders, one on his chest, one on the back of his left hand - and she likes to flick the lighter to life right beside his ear just to see him jump. They shove him around a bit, rough him up a bit. Blue wraps his hands around his throat and squeezes and Pink puts all her weight behind the garotte she tires around his neck until his whole body tingles and, if he could see, he'd say his vision goes dark. He argues that that's worse; when Pink makes him gasp for air that he can't reach, when his consciousness swims and his lungs burn. 

 

And still, occasionally she'll pause. In an almost bored tone she'll ask him, "where is Five?" and when he repeats _I don't know_ , she punches him. 

"So, what's up with you guys?" She asks as if trying to make simple conversation, as if Klaus isn't sitting there with a bloody nose and burns scattered across his body. "Your siblings just so happen to be some crazy, super-powered people. And you're what? Telekinetic?" 

Klaus mumbles behind the tape and she reaches out to roughly pull the tape off his mouth.

" _Wir sind keine geschwister,"_ he mutters, " _ich traf ihn vor zwei tagen."_

"And how do you know them?" She asks.

Klaus sighs. "Their father knew me," he shrugs with a hiss. "He died. I came for the funeral.  _Einfach."_

"And Five was around then?"

"He's not here," groans Klaus, tipping his head forwards. "He's been doing his own stuff since he arrived. No one's seen him today."

"Well, before then. Where's he been?" Pink asks him and he sucks in a deep breath. He's just so... tired...

The lighter flickers beside his ear and he startles, flinching away from it. His nerves are on edge, making him jump at every little sound, fear running through his veins. What are they going to do next? Choke him? Waterboard him? Beat him? Cut him? He doesn't know until it happens.

"I - okay! - all I know, all I know... he's been looking for a fake eye... trying to find who owns it, or something," he says, tipping his head towards Pink. She's gone quiet and he doesn't like that.

"Where was he looking for the fake eye?" She asks, and Klaus hesitates, pressing his lips together.

"I... I don't know," he lies shakily. Pink claps a hand on his burnt shoulder and tsks. 

"Here I thought you were doing so well," she sighs, disappointed, and she puts the duct tape back over his mouth while fumbling with something. He hears a metal click - not the lighter this time, more of a tap - and then something strikes his chest. It takes him multiple lashes before he realises it's a leather belt, metal buckle catching and tearing his skin. He doubles over, dropping his head down and trying to arch his back away from each strike. 

She's slightly out of breath by the time she seems satisfied, and he can feel droplets of blood running down his back, down from his trembling shoulders. She drops the belt on a pile on the floor.

"Let's check it out," she addresses Blue. "Just... shove him in the closet, or something."

Blue does. He feels himself being pulled backwards, the chair scraping across the floor, and Klaus doesn't put up much of a fight; he can't. He hears them fumble around in the main room, talking amongst themselves, and then he hears them leave the motel room and the car starts up shortly after. Klaus tips his head down, breathing raggedly and holding back sobs.

 

 

 

Despite being able to hear the cleaner's music from her earphones even from in that closet, Klaus tries to yell and scream for her attention. Unsurprisingly, she doesn't hear him, and she leaves without knowing any better.

 

 

When they come back, Klaus feels dread in his stomach. As Blue pulls him out from the closet, they get straight to work. The tape over his lips is gone and replaced by a damp towel, and a hand in his hair forces his head back as water pours over him. He splutters and gasps, trying to find the air an inch away from his face, but as he realises he can't get to it, he panics. Pink's hands hold him still and his lungs spasm in confusion and desperation and when he breathes in water, they burn. When his stomach starts to flip and he can't feel his fingers, she lets go of his face and the water stops running. 

Then, without warning, the tape is gone from his eyes. He blinks rapidly although the sudden light and input makes his head throb furiously with him, but eventually, he comes face to face with the woman behind the Pink mask. Her face is unreadable, eyes cold as she watches him struggle to gather his wits and compose himself. It's not easy when the room is full of much more people than he had first thought; full of silent, watching corpses. He cringes away from them, ducking his head slightly, but then he looks up, eyes flitting around the room, taking it all in.

Pink's fingers click in front of his face and drag him back.

_As long as they keep their faces covered, they don't plan to kill me._

Pink's hazel eyes burn into him.

_Oh._

Klaus lets out a breathy, nervous laugh. Oh. _Oh_. He's screwed.

He tugs against the duct tape restraints, rubbing against his raw wrists. His eyes catch Ben's, apologetic and helpless. 

"Five wasn't there," states Pink, raising her eyebrows.

 _"Ich weiß nicht!"_ Klaus snaps, voice shaky. He screws his eyes shut, ducking his head.  _"Bitte, bitte."_

Pink lets out a bitter laugh, standing up and letting her eyes roam around the room. She disappears out of view for a moment behind him and he hears fumbling around before he feels something cold and round press against the back of his head. He hears her take the safety off the gun and Klaus' shoulders tense.

He knows he spoke to Five about being unsure whether or not he could actually die, but he doesn't want to actually test that out. 

He doesn't think he's ever missed his mother and sister so much before. What would happen to them? Would they just think he disappeared? Would they get a phone call in a weeks time asking them to fly over to America to identify his rotting corpse? Would Pink and Blue go after them? The idea tears a sob from his dry throat. No. He doesn't want to die. He never should have came. Fuck the Hargreeves family and the Umbrella Academy as a whole. He's been here for what - hours. Long enough to make his voice hoarse from yelling. It doesn't matter whether or not they've actually been trying to find him because they're going to be too late. 

"Klaus," Ben urges, "Klaus. Manifest us. Let me help. You've got to do something."

He digs his nails into the scratched wood, prying his eyes open to look at the ghosts. He feels completely scattered, heart racing under his ribcage and blood rushing in his ears. He can't focus. He can't find the chill in himself or focus on doing anything other than mutter  _bitte, bitte,_ and gasp for ragged breaths.

"Just get it over with," Blue mutters, sitting on the edge of the bed behind him and fiddling with his hands. "We'll dump him in the dumpster and just go follow them for a while."

"I was going to say the river," Pink replies. "Or just leave him here for a few weeks. Shave his head, take his teeth and burn his fingers. Let the police go on a goose chase." Her hand runs through his hair, tugging strands harshly and forcing his head back. She bends over to catch his eye. "You got family? We could send them a nice little something to remember you."

 _"Nein, nein, bitte._ Please, don't do that," he moans, shaking his head. " _Please_." 

"Think they'd recognise your eyes?"

"Stop. Stop." 

His words fall on deaf ears. Pink's nails dance around his eyes for emphasise, scratching his skin, and his body shakes as her other hand drags the gun down his back, over the lashes from the belt, the cigarette and lighter burns. His breaths come in short gasps, stomach flipping in anxiety. Ben sounds distant as he tries to tell him to do something and Klaus thinks that's easier said than done.

His hands flicker blue. It spreads out like a mist around the room, bringing the mass of ghosts forth. Pink jumps back and Blue shoots up, curses falling past their lips. 

"What the _fuck_?" Pink hisses, her gun swinging from ghost to ghost. Klaus' lips twitch upwards in a sad smile, head tipping back. 

At being acknowledged, the ghosts stir, wide eyes turning to their murderers and reaching out. Ben rushes to Klaus' side, hands hovering over him hesitantly before reaching out to the duct tape.

His hands fall right through him. He tries again and again and again to no avail and Klaus lets out a moan as his hands flicker and fade back to normal and the ghosts disappear from Pink and Blue's sight. Silence (for them, the ghosts were still yelling at them) fell upon them aside from Klaus' pitiful laughing and sobs and their own ragged breaths. 

"What the fuck was that?" Blue mutters, looking around wildly. They turn to Klaus. Pink's hand slaps the back of his head and then grabs his jaw, but she doesn't say anything yet. She stares at him, eyes wide and cold, before she drops his head and points at Blue.

"Bathroom. Now," she ordered, ushering Blue into the room in the back of the motel. The door shuts and Klaus hangs his head. 

"Damnit. Damnit!" He wheezes, gritting his teeth. It had shocked them, sure, but what else? Nothing. He was still stuck and after that, they were surely going to kill him.

"Klaus, try again," Ben says, crouching in front of him. "Try again. I'll get the tape off. Or... or - Klaus - there's a glass there, on the table. If you can reach it, you can smash it."

Klaus follows Ben's finger pointing at a single glass on the table next to the door, and he eyes it like a key to get him out of all this.

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, mouth dry. They didn't tie his ankles down and with some effort, he manages to haul himself towards the table, throwing wary glances over his shoulder. He can hear the two of his captors bickering in hushed voices in the bathroom, and he eyes the glass for a moment. He reaches out with his foot, kicking the leg of the table once, twice, again and again, and watches as the glass inches towards the edge of the table. Then, with a final kick, it topples over the edge. Thankfully, it doesn't hit the carpet, but the thin area of hard wood floor and it shatters, shards of glass going everywhere. He eyes the shards on the floor for a moment but he can't reach them under the table with his foot, so he grits his teeth and prays to whatever God his grandmother believed in, and flexed his fingers. 

He had never really practiced with any of his powers, including telekinesis. He didn't know how to, and trying to become some God that could lift buildings with the flick of his fingers was never on his agenda. Now, though, he wished it had been. At least he wouldn't struggle to lift a single shard of glass as much. It shakes on the ground like a leaf caught in a breeze and, agonisingly slowly, it lifts inch by inch and coming closer. He reaches out and the shard slips between his fingers. He angles it, slipping the tip of the glass under the duct tape, and he makes quick work of trying to cut the duct tape off. He can feel the sharp edges catch his own skin and blood drips down his arm. Finally, though, it cuts right through the tape and he yanks his hand out with a groan. Blood rushes to his fingers and he rolls his wrist painfully, holding it close to his chest. Then, he takes it to the next wrist, uncaring whether or not it gets his skin or not. 

He lets the glass drop as he pulls his hands to his chest, rubbing his sore wrists. He takes a moment to compose himself before using the table to haul himself to his feet. His legs shake dangerously, muscles aching and stiff, and he reaches out for the door handle.

"What do you think you're doing?" Pink asks, voice sharp and cutting, and Klaus jumps. Slowly, shoulders tense, he turns around, bloody hands raised. Pink's gun is steady and trained between his eyes. He doesn't say anything and nor does she, simply staring back at him with a challenging gaze. Klaus watches Blue step out from the bathroom with another gun trained on him. He weighs his options slowly, glancing around. 

Blue rushes forwards.

Klaus throws his hands out and his gun goes flying, a bullet thudding into the wall behind him, and the chair he was previously strapped down to rushes out to meet Blue. Klaus throws himself onto the floor as Pink shoots where he'd previously been standing, shattering the window, and as he hears them hurry over he sees the vent. When he pulls it, it falls off.

He's not getting to the door, and if he hunches his shoulders he thinks he can fit in it. He's always been on the skinny side, and he's extremely grateful for that now as he pushes himself through it in a hurry. There's a large briefcase hidden in there and he hasn't got the time to pull it out, so he simply shoves it ahead of him. He feels fingers graze his foot as one of them reaches in for him but he simply shoves himself further with a hysterical laugh, trailing blood and water behind him.

The vent leads to the back of the motel. He slams his hands against the next grate and it cuts his palms up, but eventually, the grate falls off. He throws the briefcase out and hauls himself out after it, tumbling out gracefully to the floor. His body sings with pain but he knows Pink and Blue won't be far behind him, so he picks up their briefcase and runs. He doesn't know exactly where he is, but he takes each alleyway that leads him further away from the motel. When his knees buckle and he falls to a stop against a wall, tears prick his eyes.

He's alive. He's alive and he's made it out of there. He looks at the briefcase in his hands, hugging it to his chest as he falls down the wall.

With trembling, blood slicked fingers, he opens it, half-delirious and curious.

He doesn't see whatever contents are in it before he's blinded by a flashing light and he feels like he's falling.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed, feel free to leave a comment or a kudos! I appreciate it all!  
> Originally, Vietnam wasn’t going to be a part of this. Klaus was going to get found by the siblings and avoid Vietnam entirely. However, I love Dave and I think he’s a large part of Klaus’ character progress and I changed my mind to include him.   
> You can find me on Tumblr @veteranklaus.


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